


Keep On Keeping On

by Suphomie



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, PTSD, Past Torture, Recovery, Reunions, Torture, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:55:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suphomie/pseuds/Suphomie
Summary: Whenever Stiles pictured his future, living in New York wasn’t part of the plan. In fact, he had a very specific plan, he used to plan everything out to the exact detail, had an exact timeframe for every little thing.One thing Stiles has learned since his days of planning was that nothing will ever work out the way you want.-(When found alive after months of captivity, Stiles leaves Beacon Hills for years. When he gets a call from an old friend, he’s forced to return. There’s a lot of reasons not to come back, but the main one is who he left behind. Theo.)





	1. Every Little Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve decided to take a (hopefully) short hiatus on ‘Falling Leaves’, simply because this has been in my head for a while and I want to write it before it leaves me. I will go back to that fic at some point (eh but you guys know me by now, don’t hold your breath for that to be completed) but in the mean time I will be writing this! So please, leave me a comment if you’re into it and would be interested in more!

The sun shines through the cracks in between towering apartment buildings, right onto Stiles’ face as he walks with a slight limp, hands in his pockets. Kids are running around across the street, their mothers sitting on the stoop, talking to eachother, probably enjoying the last of the day as the sun begins to set. He plays with his keys inside his coat pocket distractedly, keeps running his fingers over his left hand, focusing on the darkening sky instead of the sidewalk, just letting his feet take him like he’s on autopilot.

Whenever Stiles pictured his future, living in New York wasn’t part of the plan. In fact, he had a very specific plan, he used to plan everything out to the exact detail, had an exact timeframe for every little thing. 

One thing Stiles has learned since his days of planning was that nothing will ever work out the way you want.

He likes the crowded, grimy streets of Brooklyn, he’s found. Likes the constant noise, the way you could disappear into a sea of people without anybody batting an eye. Like now, how he’s walking home from work, without a single eye on him. It’s so easy to be anybody here. Anybody but himself. No one knows who he was, no one cares to. It’s perfect.

He walks into his building, already fishing his keys out of his pocket as he steps inside. He nods to the old woman who lives above him as she checks her mail, and she flashes him a warm smile back. “How are you, Mieczyslaw?” She asks through her thick accent.

“Just great Mrs.Norwak,” he answers with a put-upon smile. She nods happily and returns to her mail as Stiles walks to the stairs.

He flips his keys in his pocket as he walks up two flights of stairs, limps up them as always, then down a familiar hallway. He can smell the scent of someone cooking dinner drifting through the air, chicken he thinks. He thinks about ordering from the chicken place down the street tonight. Yeah, that sounds good.

He finally reaches his door and steps inside, shedding his coat and tossing it onto the couch. He drops his keys into the bowl on the side table. “Hey Maxie,” he says to his cat lying on the couch. He only stretches his black-spotted paws in greeting. Stiles pets his head as he passes, walking into the kitchen.

He checks his phone as he grabs a menu from one of the drawers, sees a text from a work group chat, talking about going out after work tomorrow night. He doesn’t bother to send a text back, instead dropping the menu onto the counter, leaving it to grab a bottle of beer from the fridge. 

He’s about to go back to the menu when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He picks it up and glances down. The screen reads _Dad_. He quickly presses answer quickly, not remembering the last time his dad has checked in with him and knowing he’ll worry if he doesn’t answer right away.

“Hey,” He says distractedly, reading through the menu on the counter.

“... Hi, Stiles.” Comes a voice through the phone. 

Stiles nearly drops the bottle in his hand. About a hundred memories flood him all at once at the voice that is very much not his dad’s. A voice he hasn’t heard in five years. His chest constricts and it’s suddenly impossible to breath.

 

_”St-Stiles? Stiles! Oh my god, oh my- what did they do to him?”_

 

“Stiles?” The voice asks, and Stiles doesn’t know how long he’s just been standing in the middle of his kitchen, on the verge of a panic attack. He swallows hard. Swallows again.

 

_”I- Stiles, it’s gonna be okay, okay? I-I’ll get you out of here. Oh my god, oh my god, fuck-“_

 

“Scott?” He asks, alreading knowing and dreading the answer.

“Yeah,” Scott says through the phone, voice sounding tired. “Listen,” he begins before Stiles has a chance to say anything, though he has no idea what he’d even say, “I know it’s been a long time, and I’m probably one of the last people you want to hear from, but it’s about your dad. He was attacked and he’s in the hospital. He- he hasn’t woken up. We don’t know what’s wrong with him... And I think you need to come back.”

Stiles stares blankly at his sink for- well, he can’t tell how long. He watches droplets of water fall, one after another. He feels sick to his stomach.

 

_Stiles blinks hard against the harsh lights, trying to make out Scott’s face. Trying to make sure he isn’t imagining this. His theory seems less and less likely as Scott cradles his dirt covered face, eyes full of fear as he carefully avoids looking down at Stiles’ body. No, not fear. Terror._

_“H-help me, help me get him up,” Scott says to someone behind him that Stiles can’t quite see. When Stiles’ vision starts to swim he blinks again, but the world only gets a little bit clearer._

_He feels hands trying to get the shackles off of his wrists, the ones holding him to the hard metal chair. Scott takes in a sharp breath, his eyes suspiciously wet as he tries to free him with increasing desperation. After a frustrated growl Stiles can hear metal break and he nearly falls over before Scott catches him in his arms._

_“Scott.” Stiles croaks out, his voice barely above a whisper, and the taste of blood on his tongue. His mind still trying to catch up with the world spinning around him. None of it feels real, he feels like he’s in a dream. He’s been waiting for this day for so long, he never thought it would happen._

_“Stiles,” Scott says, pulling his body closer to him, like he’s trying to protect him. “I’m so sorry, Stiles, I’m s-so sorry I couldn’t find you, it’s gonna be okay, we’ll get you out of here, I’m so sorry they did this to you-“_

_Scott continues to ramble, but Stiles can’t focus on what he’s saying. He doesn’t remember Scott coming in. He doesn’t remember anything, just pain. But his body just feels numb, now._

_He feels another set of hands on him from behind, but can’t figure out exactly who they belong to. Then someone’s appearing in the doorway, gun drawn. Their eyes scour the room until they find Stiles’ bloodied form. “Oh my god,” says the horrified voice._

_“Dad?” He huffs. It hurts to talk, hurts to focus. His dad has that same horrified look as Scott as he looks Stiles’ body over._

_“Stiles,” he says as he rushes over. He runs a hand over Stiles’ face, voice much calmer than Scott’s was as he says, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he turns to someone else, “Call 911 right now,” he puts a hand on Scott’s shoulder, who’s face is buried into Stiles’ shoulder, “Scott, we have to get him out of here, okay?” Scott’s head raises, nods, but doesn’t let Stiles go._

_Stiles must black out for a minute, because the next thing he knows is that he’s being picked up by Scott like he weighs nothing. The movement brings back the searing pain through his body and he whimpers. “I-it’s okay, it’s okay, Stiles, I have you, I-I have you,” a voice keeps reminding him. He’s being carried through a dank hallway, but everything’s blurry. He thinks someone drapes a blanket over him as they go._

_He comes to his senses very suddenly and he feels himself start to panic. “Th-Theo,” he makes out through strained vocal chords, trying to shift out of Scott’s arms but his body is far too weak, “W-where- please, ‘ave to f-find-“_

_“It’s okay, we already found him,” a new, distant voice says, he thinks it could be Malia’s, “He’s with Parrish.”_

_Stiles sags in relief. He lets his head loll and rest on Scott. He briefly wonders just how many people are here to rescue them and is almost embarrassed at the amount of people who are seeing him in whatever condition he’s in to cause all the horrified looks. But that thought leaves him quickly, no thought is sticking very long right now. All he can see are black and yellow spots dancing around his vision. “I-I c-can’t feel anything,” Stiles murmurs into Scott’s chest, to who he’s not quite sure._

_“Shh,” he thinks that’s his dad again, but he keeps his eyes shut, “Try not to talk so much kiddo, save your energy. We’re gonna get you home.” His voice cracks, like he’s about to cry. He must be in terrible shape to make his dad cry, and he considers apologizing for his dad having to see him like this, but everything starts to slowly fade away before he gets the chance._

 

“You still there?” Scott’s voice is surprisingly patient and gentle.

Stiles doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting to respond. He feels like he has to throw up, but he just stands there instead, phone to his ear, staring blankly at his kitchen floor. When he finally comes to his senses he takes in a sharp breath and scratches the back of his neck with his hand. Everything in his body is screaming for him to say no, no, please don’t make me go back. “Okay.” He says instead as he swallows, shifts on his feet, tries to make his voice sound normal, not on the verge of a meltdown.

“Okay?” Scott asks, sounding pretty relieved. He lets out a deep breath and says, “Thank you. I’ll uh- I’ll be here when you get here.”

Stiles mumbles something vaguely sounding like a goodbye before hanging up, doesn’t give Scott the chance to say anything else. He’s still holding a beer bottle in his shaking hand. When he realizes he puts it down on the counter and then his phone right next to it. He takes in a dangerously shallow breath and puts both of his hands on the counter to steady himself. Don’t panic, he keeps repeating over and over again in his head.

He manages to get his breathing back to normal after a minute, but the sense of dread remains. He hasn’t been back to Beacon Hills in 5 years. He planned _never_ to go back. 

But nothing fucking ever works out the way he plans them.

 

It turns out it’s hard to keep suppressing memories once they’re all dredged up again. 

He’d tried his best to forget everything, he left Beacon Hills, he lost contact with everyone but his dad, he hasn’t thought about anything supernatural since he left. He found a new life. He has friends, a job, no one knows anything about _Stiles Stilinski_ here and he made sure of that. And all of that crumbled within seconds.

Stiles takes in a forced breath as he carelessly stuffs clothes into a duffle bag. His hands won’t stop shaking. He looks down at them, more specifically at his left one, stares at the mutilated skin there. He looks away quickly, leaves the bag for a second, grabbing his beer sitting on his dresser and chugging it. It does nothing to relieve the anxiety that’s taken root in his chest. And while he can’t get the feeling of dread out of his stomach at the thought of going back, the feeling of guilt is slowly joining it.

He can’t stop thinking about what happened to his dad, or more accurately what _could’ve_ happened to his dad. The dark recesses of his mind can’t help but wonder if maybe it’s his fault he’s hurt. That maybe if he hadn’t of ran away from Beacon Hills then he could’ve somehow protected him from whatever supernatural creature no doubt did this to him.

It doesn’t matter, he supposes. He left. There’s no changing that. And he left for a good reason. He couldn’t be there anymore, every sympathetic look he got, every time he even looked at Scott or his dad, it reminded him of- jesus, he can’t stop thinking about it now. And he knows it’s only going to get worse the moment he gets there. He worked so damn hard to put it all behind him, the pain, the cellar, the hunters, Theo-

 

_”Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?”_

 

Stiles feels like he’s been punched in the gut all of a sudden. That’s a name he hasn’t let himself think about in a long time. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut tight and urges himself to stop thinking. Stop remembering.

 

_Theo’s eyes open slowly from where he’s laying down next to Stiles, who’s sat up slightly against the concrete wall. Stiles taps his fingers against his chest as Theo turns his head to look at him with tired eyes. “Why are you asking that?” He asks groggily instead of answering._

_Stiles swallows, looks away, scratching the growing stubble on his cheek. He looks over the small cell for what feels like the millionth time. Metal toilet, sink, door, two dirty sheets beneath them. He knows every detail of it by heart, right down to the pattern of cracks in the ceiling._

_He looks back to Theo and says, “No one’s looking for us.” Saying it out loud is makes him feel worse than he did just thinking about it. He feels cold suddenly and blames the underground cell and the hard stone floor he’s laying on with only a sheet as a buffer._

_Theo looks at him for a long time before licking his thumb and bringing it up to wipe something off Stiles’ forehead. Stiles frowns slightly. It turns out to be blood, which isn’t surprising. “Maybe not for me,” he says finally, “But you know they’re looking for you,” he sighs and puts an arm behind his head, closing his bloodshot eyes again, “They wouldn’t just forget about you.”_

_“Yeah? Where the hell are they, then?” Stiles snaps, attempting to sit up further. He winces when he jostles one of his injuries. Theo’s up and has his arms around him in a second. “I’m fine,” Stiles forces out, gritting his teeth and running cold fingers over his injured side through his dirtied shirt._

_“You’re still weak,” Theo reminds him in an exasperated tone. He pulls him back down and onto his chest. Stiles groans in protest, but sighs and settles after a moment. He is still recovering from the latest round of torture, he can’t really move without causing even more pain, which he’d like to avoid while he can. He doesn’t quite remember what they did to him this time, just knows his side hasn’t stopped throbbing in days._

_Theo runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair that’s grown out far too long. Stiles sighs tiredly, letting him. It’s quiet for a while before Theo says softly, “We’re gonna survive this. Even if no one’s looking, we’ll find a way out.”_

_Stiles envies how Theo’s able to stay so focused, how he hasn’t let himself sink into hopelessness. He can’t tell if it’s an act, never could tell much with Theo. But the longer they’re here, the more the determination seems to chip away. Even with supernatural healing Theo’s injuries are visible for days at a time. He’s getting weaker._

_He doesn’t say any of it outloud. Instead he listens as Theo huffs out a soundless laugh and says, “At least you will.”_

_Stiles doesn’t knows if he means find a way out or survive, but he’s too tired to keep this conversation up for much longer. So he wraps an arm loosely around Theo’s middle and closes his eyes, hopes he can actually manage to get some rest for once._

 

Stiles can’t stop the panic once it’s started. He gasps for breath, grasping the side of the dresser tightly to not collapse to the floor. It’s been a while since he’s had one of these, but it comes back like second nature. He manages to calm himself and get his breathing under more control after a few long, agonizing minutes. He sinks down to the floor and puts his head in his hands.

He wishes he could go back thirty minutes and ignore Scott’s call. He would’ve been fine, gone back to the little world he created here. But it was all fabricated, he realizes now. This isn’t him, at least not all of him. He knows he has to go see his dad, and that means seeing everything he left behind. 

He has to go back to Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you’d like more


	2. The Same But Different

_”You’re wasting your time, you know.”_

 

Stiles fidgets uncomfortably on the plane seat, switching between looking out the window and then feeling sick and looking at the seat in front of him every few minutes. There’s a man snoring loudly in front of him and a toddler crying three rows back. Flight attendents are rolling their carts through the cramped aisles. And Stiles is trying not to throw up. He hates planes at the best of times, but he has a feeling the turning in his stomach is being caused by more than that. 

Everything since last night was a rush that he doesn’t really remember. He hurried to book the first flight he could to California, take off of work for a while, get a neighbor to check in on his cat every few days. None of this feels real yet. He refuses to think of anything other than his dad right now, and seeing him. Refuses to think of anyone else in Beacon Hills that he’s not ready to think of yet.

 

_Stiles huffs out a frustrated breath, turning from the locked metal door to Theo. He’s sitting against the concrete wall, legs stretched out in front of him, head leaning against the wall. “You are aware we’re trapped in here, right?” He snaps._

_Theo shoots him a look. “You’re wasting your time,” he repeats, voice infuriatingly calm, “You’ve been trying the door for days. It’s locked.”_

_Stiles clenches his jaw tightly. He hates that his head gets stuck on the word days. Has it really been days ? “Yeah, well I haven’t gotten any help from you,” He bites back anyways, “Would you like to get off your ass and help me at some point? Or do you wanna be stuck here forever?”_

_Theo just keeps watching him, an almost amused expression on his face. Stiles wants to knock his stupid teeth in. “Suit yourself.” He says, going back to the door. He hates how Theo’s right, the door is definitely not budging, but he has to do something. He can’t just sit back and wait for whoever the fuck that trapped them to do whatever it is to them they’re planning. He’s expecting Scott and the others or his dad to show up at some point (hopefully soon), but he’s not willing to let himself become pliant waiting for a rescue._

_“You’re only gonna tire yourself out.” Theo continues, and Stiles turns back to glare at him. He raises his eyebrows, saying, “What would you even do if you got the door open? We have no idea where we are. We have to wait it out. Figure out an actual plan.”_

_Stiles huffs angrily. “Of all people, I had to get stuck in here with you.” He spits out. Waking up on a hard floor, in some grimy concrete room, with only Theo was just about Stiles’ worst nightmare so of course it came true. The situation is definitely not helped by the fact that he has no idea who’s kidnapped them and what the hell they could possibly want. He has a few theories._

_”Well at least you’re not alone,” Theo says, somehow still smug despite the dire circumstances. Like he’s enjoying the annoyance he’s caused by his presense. Stiles grinds his teeth together, but doesn’t give him the satisfaction, turning back to the door instead._

_He didn’t realize it then, how right Theo was._

 

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

Stiles blinks up at the woman and her cart. She looks like she’s trying to hide her annoyance, like she’s been waiting for an answer. She glances down, spots Stiles hand and then quickly looks away, like she’s trying not to stare. Stiles licks his lips, rubs his fingers over his hand in habit, finally responds, “Uh, yeah, give me a scotch.”

She smiles and gives him the drink, looking a little grateful to move on to the next row. Stiles downs it in one sip. He sighs, leg bouncing up and down as he looks out the window. He finds himself hoping this plane ride doesn’t end. 

 

It’s strange to see Beacon Hills after so long being away. Everything looks the same somehow, but it feels like a completely different place. The smell is off, is oddly the first thing he notices when he arrives at a car rental. It’s hard to say what the smell _was_ exactly, but it was distinct. It smelled like home. But something’s changed, he just can’t put his finger on what.

He chalks it up to the amount of time he’s been gone. It has been five years. Maybe Beacon Hills hasn’t changed at all, maybe it’s _him_ who’s changed. Still, it feels weird to be back. He feels like he’s intruding, like he just doesn’t belong here anymore. 

He sucks it up, rents a car, drives through familiar streets. He hasn’t forgotten any of it, despite not thinking of it in so long. It’s just three lefts and one right until he’s at Beacon Hills hospital. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel when he steps in, but he was hoping he wouldn’t feel so much like his lungs were collapsing.

He spent a long time here after they found him and Theo. His injuries were just as bad as everyone’s face that day suggested. Broken bones, infected wounds, blood loss, damaged nerves in his hand, so many other old injuries that had never healed properly. He learned how long they were kept in their little hell hole here, too. When they found them it was the middle of July. They went missing in January. 

Stiles pushes his panic back down as he walks in. He needs to focus on his dad, that’s it. He’s really grateful Melissa isn’t at the nurses station when he reaches it to get his dad’s room number.

The halls are more drab than he remembers. During his stay here they seemed so bright, everything seemed completely white-washed. But now everything is dark, dull. He can’t figure out why it makes his stomach swirl. 

He finally reaches the room after what feels like endless hallways. He takes in a weary breath as he slowly steps forward. The door is slightly ajar, so he can see inside when he peers in. The room is empty besides a bed in the middle, with his dad lying on it, white sheet covering most of his body.

He stands in the doorway for a few moments more before finally taking a few shaky steps inside. He examines his dad’s way-too-still body carefully. He wishes he could pretend he’s just asleep, but his mouth has a breathing tube coming out of it and he’s surrounded by beeping machines. Machines that are keeping him alive.

And while trying to process it, all Stiles can think about is how much he missed. The only times he’s seen his dad in the last five years was for holidays when he could make it out to New York, Stiles always refused to come back here and his dad never pushed. And even then, it was for at most a week at a time once or twice a year. How much time did he miss with his dad in that amount of time? All because he decided to leave. Now his dad could be dying and he might never get anytime ever again.

“Stiles?” 

Stiles sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his sleep as he turns to the source of the voice. Scott is standing in the doorway, surprised and happy look on his face. He looks the same but different, like everything in this town. His hair is longer than it was last, almost like how it was in sophmore year, though more styled. His face looks a little bit older, more mature, but only really noticeable to someone who has spent as long as Stiles has looking at him. 

Stiles doesn’t know what exactly to say, so he says nothing. His throat feels closed up. He half expects Scott to be distant with him. Cold. Only telling him the facts about his dad and then leaving him to his own devices. But that’s never been Scott. 

So Stiles isn’t really surprised when he walks over and pulls Stiles into a tight hug. It should be weirder, after so long. But Stiles oddly doesn’t mind it. Maybe it’s because his eyes are watering and it feels like he’s got cotton stuck in his throat, that he hugs him back. Or maybe he’s just really relieved that even after the shit he did at least one person doesn’t hate him. 

“I’m so glad you came.” Scott says as he pulls away, hands still on his shoulders. “It’s really good to see you,” he shoots him a weak smile. Stiles can see the bags under his eyes this close, how pale his skin looks. His eyes dart to his dad and then back to Stiles as he lets him go and says, “Do you- uh- wanna go somewhere else to talk.”

Stiles swallows, looks back at his dad. Still no movement. He hates how he looks like he’s never going to wake up. Stiles takes in a deep breath and quickly turns back to Scott. “Yeah,” he says. He’d say anything to get away from his father’s dying body.

 

Some things will always be the same, no matter how long you’ve been away from them. The Beacon Hills hospital cafeteria has been a constant in Stiles’ life. He can always rely on it to feel the same, to look the same, to serve the same shitty food.

He first got acquainted with this place when he was eight. It was when his mother started getting sick, so he and his dad would sit in here and eat while she met with doctors. When she got sicker this became his safehaven, a place to get away from the smell of death and from a mother that was starting to believe he was a monster. Then she died but that didn’t stop his visits here. Sometimes Scott waited on his mom to get off and when Stiles was with him he’d wait too. The sudden introduction of the supernatural into their lives meant hospital trips with ineviteble and they only seemed to get more frequent as time went on and enemies got more dangerous. His last hospital visit was long and something he’d rather not think about, but he did eat almost entirely cafeteria food throughout the stay, save for the times his dad would sneak in fast food.

It’s oddly comforting that at least this place hasn’t changed.

“So...” Scott drawls awkwardly, stirring the coffee in his styrofoam cup. He keeps looking Stiles over, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what’s different. Stiles doesn’t think he looks that different, but then again the last time he saw Scott his face was still marked with slowly healing bruises. Maybe he looks older too. He does feel like he’s aged twenty years in five. It probably shows.

“How are you?” Scott decides on saying at last. His voice is too soft; almost cautious. He still looks somewhat shocked that Stiles is actually sitting in front of him. 

Stiles swallows. He glances down at his untouched coffee. He wishes he’d brought something to spike it with, the amount he got on the plane was not nearly enough to take the edge off. “...I’m fine.” He says.

Scott looks like he wants to press but refrains. Instead he scratches the back of his head and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he starts, sounding tired, “About all of this. I know it’s probably... not easy coming back.” 

Stiles’ leg won’t stop shaking up and down. He hates being back but hates talking about why he left even more. Part of him wishes Scott weren’t so compassionate with him. Anger is easily to deal with, guilt is a feeling that’s as familar as an old friend. But Scott looking at him sympathetically, telling him he understands? It’s hard to handle. Stiles takes a breath and asks, “How is everybody? The pack.” The word feels so foreign leaving his mouth after so long. 

Scott’s eyebrows raise. “Everybody’s good.” He says after he recovers. “Yeah. Uh, Lydia’s still working on her masters degree. Liam’s away at school. Malia works with me down at the clinic now. Um.. oh,” A weird look crosses his face, “Me and Kira are engaged.”

Now it’s Stiles’ turn to raise his eyebrows. “Wow.” He says, not knowing really what else to. It’s beyond weird to hear everyone’s names again, it’s even weirder that his former best friend is engaged and he had no idea about it. He’s sure his dad hid it from him to save him any guilt or pain, but it’s still just... weird. Like everything in this town.

Scott smiles softly. “Yeah... the wedding’s... well, we don’t really know yet.” He looks back up, “So everyone’s... good.” He looks uncomfortable again and Stiles braces himself as he asks, “Have you gone to see Theo yet?”

It’s like a punch to the gut. Suddenly he can hardly stomach the few sips of coffee he had.

He tries not to let it show. He hopes Scott doesn’t pay attention to the way he pointedly looks away, towards the window a few feet away. When he finally feels like he can speak without throwing up he asks, “He’s still in Beacon Hills, huh?”

He remembers a conversation they had once. He’d asked where they should go, if they could go anywhere. He’ll never forget when he smirked and said, _anywhere but here_. 

But Stiles is the one who ended up getting out.

“Yeah,” Scott is saying when he tunes back in. “Yeah, he lives in an apartment downtown,” he at least looks sorry that he brought the subject up when it’s clearly... _complicated_ , but Stiles can’t forgive him because he continues, “He- he doesn’t know you’re in town or anything. No one does.”

Stiles sees the out and quickly takes it, asking, “What happened to my dad?” His voice sounds unsteady, which he hadn’t meant for, but at least it makes it clear that he’s done talking about the subject of Theo.

Scott frowns. “He was attacked,” he explains, looking pained, “a few nights ago. He’s not the first one, though,” he looks up and Stiles’ jaw clenches up, “We’re not really sure _what_ it is. We’ve been looking through the bestiary, but none of us have even seen it yet...” he glances at his coffee and Stiles has a feeling he’s not gonna like what he’s gonna say next. Scott finally takes in a deep breath, looks him in the eye and says, “I didn’t just call you here because of your dad. We could really use your help.”

Stiles stomach drops again. Five years without having to worry about anything goddamn supernatural was a blessing that he didn’t appreciate enough. It feels like he’s back in highschool again, on a wild chase to keep up with whatever fucking creature was terrorizing them that month.

“Scott, I-“ he begins.

“Listen,” Scott interrupts, face turning increasingly desperate, “I know- I know I shouldn’t be asking you this. But we don’t know what to do and people are getting hurt; _really_ hurt. We don’t know what’s wrong with your dad, but maybe if we figured out what did this to him then we could figure out how to fix him.” Stiles opens his mouth but Scott quickly adds, “you don’t have to decide right now. We’re having a pack meeting tomorrow at my place, just- please think about it. Please.”

Stiles wants to say no. Really wants to say no. He wants no part in this, doesn’t want to have to deal with a new danger. But then he thinks about his dad. How still he looked. “... I’ll think about it.” He says after a moment of considering.

“Okay. Thank you.” Scott says. He looks like he might want to say more, but he also might understand the concession he’s just received, so he sticks to only the thanks. Meanwhile Stiles is regretting ever picking up the phone and can’t get the image of his dad lying in a hospital bed out of his mind.

 

Stiles stares up at the white ceiling fan for what seems like hours in the dark. He stayed with his dad for a couple more hours after he talked with Scott, then checked into a motel. He briefly considered staying at his old house but quickly shot that idea down. He’s definitely not ready to go back there after everything. But too be fair, he’s not really ready for _any_ of this.

He keeps thinking about Scott’s invitation. He wants to help find a cure to whatever’s wrong with his dad, but the thought of seeing the pack again is terrifying. Especially if Theo’s going to be there.

But he doesn’t want to be thinking about that while he’s trying to sleep. Not that he even _can_ sleep. Sleep has seemingly always been a struggle in his life but after everything that happened it’s more pressing than it ever was before. He shifts and puts a hand under his pillow, checking there yet again. Hunting knife. Just like always. But even knowing it’s there does little to ease his anxiety. It’s not like it can stop the nightmares.

 

_The room is completely made out of concrete. So that means when it’s cold it’s fucking freezing. That mixed with having to sleep on the floor, with nothing between you and the concrete, is almost unbearable. Stiles takes in a shaky breath, curling further into the thin sheet, the only coverage he has. He’s been alternating between lying on top of it and putting it over himself, each only lasting a few minutes before he has to switch again._

_Stiles doesn’t know how long it’s been. He tried to keep time at first, tried to count each time they get a meal, but in between an infrequent meal schedule and them being taken out of the room every few days, he’s lost track. At least two weeks. Still early. Still hope of rescue._

_Theo ended up being right about the door being a bust. He’d gone through quite a few escape ideas, actually, but none of them were plausible, especially not with Theo’s powers out of commission. Stiles still isn’t sure what they did to make that happen, whether they found a posion or something, but it’s not like they’re answering any of his question. Especially since he doesn’t even know who they are. But all he can do is at this point are flash his eyes and heal, albeit slowly._

_Stiles turns for what feels like the millionth time. The only light in here that’s always on is dim, but Stiles can still see Theo lying in the corner opposite him. He’s turned to face the wall, so Stiles can’t tell if he’s sleeping or not but his back moves with every steady breath he takes. When Stiles first woke up, he assumed the worst problem was that he was trapped with him. He had no fucking idea what was coming._

_After what must’ve been at most a few days, the people who trapped them came in, rifles in their hands. They take them one at a time. They took Theo first. He was gone for hours, until he was thrown back in, bleeding and with slowly healing wounds. When it was Stiles turn they led him out of the room with guns pointed at his head, as if he could do anything to them without a weapon. He’d tried to get a good look at where they were as they led him, tried to remember every detail so he could try to map it out later. All he ended up figuring out was that they were somewhere underground, someplace with winding, dirty tunnels._

_They ended up leading him to a small, dark room, with a chair in the middle of it. He’d tried not to beg, tried to fight and yell and curse. Tried not to scream. But when the pain just kept coming and coming, he couldn’t help but give in. He doesn’t remember alot of it, just remembers a lot of sharp things against his skin and the revolting smell of blood filling the damp room. The pain hasn’t subsided yet, no matter how much he wills it too._

_They haven’t been taking them on any discernable schedule, it seems they just do it whenever the desire strikes. Which really doesn’t help figure out why they’re here or who the hell these people are. It makes Stiles hope increasingly that his dad and the pack are just minutes away from bursting through the door and making this another nightmare he can forget._

_Another painful shiver runs though Stiles’ body, despite how much it makes his aching body howl. He winces and moves back to facing the wall._

_“Oh my god.”_

_Stiles is surprised by the sudden, exasperated voice piercing the heavy silence. He turns to Theo, who’s now facing him, annoyed look on his tired face. Stiles shoots him a look and Theo says, “You have to stop moving, you’re driving me crazy.”_

_Stiles narrows his eyes. “It’s fucking freezing in here,” he snaps, “I don’t have fucking werewolf heat.” He huffs out an angry breath and lies back down, purposefully turned towards the wall. He wants to keep arguing, but he keeps shivering and it takes too much energy to talk._

_“Come over here, then,” Theo says like it’s obvious, voice still clipped._

_“Fuck off.” Stiles mutters as he closes his eyes, wrapping the sheet tightly around himself. It doesn’t help as much as he’d like it to._

_Theo sighs very loudly, which would make Stiles roll his eyes if they were open. He can hear shuffling from Theo’s side for a few momens and then he hears him stand. He hardly gets a chance to look over to see what he’s doing before Theo is right in front of him and laying his sheet next to Stiles._

_“What the hell are you doing?” He asks indignantly, but Theo’s already lying down on the sheet, inches away from him. Stiles tenses as he’s pulled closer to him by the middle until their chests are touching._

_“Trying to get you to stay still.” He murmurs, already closing his eyes. Stiles wants to protest, even opens his mouth to, but then he feels something he hasn’t felt since they got here. Warm. Theo’s radiating heat like a furnace compared to the frigid room. Stiles breath deeply for a second, considering, then relaxing. He shifts closer to the heat, and in turn closer to Theo. He closes his eyes and finally feels like he can sleep._

 

Stiles sits up in the squeaky bed, turning on the lamp next to him. He rubs his eyes as he gets up and walks over to his bag on top of the dresser. He digs through his clothes until he finds the bottle of jack daniels he’d stuffed in with the rest of his stuff. 

While he takes a swig of it he urges himself to stop thinking about the past. To stop thinking about _Theo_.

He takes another sip but the memory of soft warmth and someone laying next to him doesn’t leave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here’s another chapter! Hope you’re all liking this. Please leave me a comment if you are or aren’t! Love feedback :) the steo tag has been pretty dead for a while, but I’m still liking this fic so I’m going to continue for the foreseeable future, let me know any of your thoughts on where you’d like this to go, any questions, or what you’d like to see!


	3. Rip the Band-aid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took forever to write! Hope you guys enjoy, remember to leave a comment if you are!

It’s not fair how much Stiles remembers.

He was hoping the trauma would make him forget most, if not all of what happened. But of fucking course he didn’t get that single reprieve. Because guess what? He remembers every thing. He’d been able to push it down for a while, but it never _really_ left, and ever since coming back he can’t seem to stop thinking about it. All of it.

 

_The lights in the hospital are too bright. Stiles squints against them, eyes heavy. He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for a few days now. When he has been awake his dad or Melissa or Scott are usually in the room, talking in soft, hused tones. They’ve carefully avoided telling him anything about the extent of his injuries, besides telling him he had a broken leg when he hazily demanded he get up, but still he can hardly move at all. Though, that might have something to do with the post-surgery drugs they’ve been pumping him with. The fact that he’s too out of it to even try to actually find out is probably an indication of how strong said drugs are._

_As much as he hates being unaware of what’s going on, it’s kind of a blessing to not have to think, to be stuck in this strange, dream-like state where nothing seems real. It means he doesn’t have to remember anything._

_Although there is one thing he remembers. Theo. He hasn’t seem him since he got out and the fact that no one’s mentioned him once is worrying. Too bad he can hardly keep a straight thought in his head for enough time to even ask about where he is and if he’s okay. Stiles a year ago wouldn’t care if Theo was alive or dead but that version of him feels long gone, killed by the men that tortured them._

_Stiles glances to his side. Unsurprisingly his dad is here again, dozing off in the uncomfortable hospital seat. Stiles takes in a breath, and it must come out a little too forced because he wakes his dad up. “Hey, kiddo,” He says, flashing a weak smile. He looks so tired._

_Stiles thinks he makes a small noise of recognition but it could very well be his imagination. His dad does seem to hear it, though, and puts a gentle hand to the side of Stiles’ face. Stiles can’t even feel it._

_His dad looks away suddenly, seeming distracted by movement in the doorway. Maybe if he was in the right state of mind he’d figure out what was happening, but he’s surprisingly content to stare off into space, eyes probably glazed over._

_He does, however, tune back into reality when he notices his father’s conflicted face. He finally looks over at the open doorway and will never be able to express the amount of relief he feels when it’s Theo standing there. He looks different, the beard he’d been growing shaved, and he looks clean, like he’s had a shower. Still, he’s too pale and thin, his hoodie that once would’ve clung to his body now hanging off of him slightly. But it’s him. And he’s alright._

_“Theo.” He croaks, voice barely audible and hoarse. He tries to sit up to no avail, his body hit with a sudden rush of adrenaline that it wasn’t expecting, making him feel dizzy and suddenly lightheaded. Instead he just decides to hold out an his good hand._

_Theo looks just as relieved as him, this small, soft smile forming over his face when he sees him. It doesn’t take long before he’s crossing the small space between them and standing next to him, taking his outstretched, undamaged hand in his. All of this much to his father’s dismay, he might add, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything, just gives them some space. Not too much space, though, and his judgmental eyes can’t seem to leave Theo. But that’s easy to ignore when Theo is standing in front of him._

_“I thought they...” Stiles trails off, half from the drugs making it hard to string a sentence together, half because he doesn’t want to talk about thinking Theo was dead, thinking they’d killed him when he never came back after the last time they took him to be tortured, leaving Stiles alone for what felt like years, not knowing what happened to him._

_Theo runs a thumb over his knuckles. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” He says with what seems to be an attempt at a smirk but still just comes across as a relieved, elated smile._

_Stiles huffs out a weak laugh, actually feeling joy for the first time without thinking it was fleeting, that it would all be stripped away the next time they took him. It makes him feel high. He squeezes Theo’s hand as tight as he can, and Theo squeezes it back gently, reaching over and running a hand through his tangled hair._

 

Stiles flips through a magazine half-heartedly, not actually reading anything. He keeps glancing at his dad. He’s not sure why. Maybe hoping for him to suddenly wake up, to say he’s fine, that everything’s fine. But he’s still just lying there when he looks up, breathing in and out steadily. Stiles sighs and puts the magazine down, rubbing his eyes.

He didn’t get any sleep last night. He hardly sleeps for more than a few hours on a good night, but this was different. He couldn’t stop thinking. _Remembering_. 

He checks his phone for the hundredth time. Rereads the message Scott sent him this morning. _the pack meetings at my place at 8, hope you can make it._ He can’t stop going over the words, like they’ll change if he looks at them hard enough. But they’re still the same.

The thought of having to face the pack again is panic-educing. He left without a word to anyone, he has no idea how they’d possibly react to seeing him just waltz in after years of no contact. Especially... jesus, especially Theo. He knew coming back meant the possibility of seeing him again, but he’d sincerly hoped he’d be out of Beacon Hills by now, that he’d have left like he always wanted to. Knowing that he might have to see him again is more than panic-enducing, it’s fucking terrifying. He probably hates him. Stiles knows he would if their roles were reversed.

All of it makes him want to escape back to his hiding place in New York. He was happy there, he didn’t have to think about any of this shit, didn’t remember every little terrible memory he left behind. But then he looks at his dad’s still form again and he knows he can’t just leave him like this. He needs to figure out how to fix this. And if that means seeing everyone again, then... 

Then he’ll do what he has to. No matter how much it makes him feel like he’s going to be sick.

 

Apparently Scott moved into his own house near the preserve sometime when Stiles was away. Stiles stares at the place through his rental car’s window. It’s a small house from what he can see, most of it covered by the night, but he can see lights coming through the windows, as well as cars in the driveway. Stiles opted to park across the street, hidden by the lack of street lamps. He’s been parked for at least ten minutes now, just _staring_.

Despite Scott’s invite he feels unwelcome. He also feels like a stalker out here, just watching, waiting. He doesn’t actually know what he’s waiting for, is the thing. There’s not gonna be a right time to go in, he supposes, he didn’t even tell Scott he was coming, but he’s just... _waiting_.

He can’t just walk in and act like he once would’ve in one of their little pack meetings. He finds himself wishing more and more that Scott hadn’t of asked for his help; then he could’ve just stayed in his motel, completely isolated until they figured out a way to heal his dad. But he knows he can’t keep stalling. He just needs to rip the goddamn band-aid; this isn’t about him, it’s about his dad. He has it to do it for his dad.

Stiles inhales a long, uneven breath and finally leaves his car. His legs feel weak as he walks towards the house, even more than normal, slow as he can possibly manage without just standing in the middle of the road. He still feels like he might be sick, though he’s truly not sure if it’s the extreme anxiety or the whiskey he downed in the car. Probably a combination. His heart is racing so out of control that he’s sure he’s alerted all the werewolves in the house of his arrival.

He takes a good look at the cars in the driveway but he only recognizes a couple of them. He doesn’t see Theo’s truck, but he knows he could’ve gotten a new car by now, so it does nothing to ease the growing knot in his stomach.

It seems like the closer he gets to the door the faster his breathing gets. Everything in him is screamning _run, run far away_ , but he trudges forward, feet hardly even cooperating with him. He tries to steady his breathing as he walks up the porch. The sound of the wooden steps creaking beneath him fill his ears. He reaches the door hesitantly and realizes it’s slightly ajar. Typical of Scott to leave his door open for everyone, even when something’s terrorizing the town. The normalness of it surprisingly eases some of his nerves. Makes it all seem less like foreign territory. 

_You can do this_ , he repeats in his head like a mantra. _Rip the band-aid_. 

After one last deep breath he opens the door fully and does his slight limp-walk inside. When the front room is empty he lets out the breath he was holding in slight relief. It doesn’t last for long, however, as he hears talking close by. He follows the noise to a livingroom, which is full of people. His old pack, to be more specific.

The conversation stops abruptly the moment they catch view of him. They all turn to him and their expressions are a mixture of surprise and confusion. Scott, sitting on the couch, flashes him a surprised, happy smile. Next to him is Kira, and Malia, Lydia is sitting on an armchair a foot away with Parrish perched on the arm, holding her hand (not exactly a surprise there). Quickly scanning the room, Stiles has never been so grateful when he sees that Theo’s not here. That doesn’t stop his heart from nearly beating out of his chest at all the eyes on him, though.

There’s this tenseness in the air, so much that Stiles feels like he’s about to suffocate. He’s at a complete loss for words, he just stands there, mouth probably open slightly, eyes wide. Scott, luckily, breaks the long, drawn-out silence, saying, “Hey, I’m really glad you could make it,” he sounds pretty genuine. 

It doesn’t exactly make the mood anymore comfortable, but it does ease some of the awkward tension. Kira stands and approaches him with a big smile. As she hugs him she says a happy, “It’s so good to see you.” Stiles can’t help but notice (or maybe he was looking for) the shiny engagement ring on her finger. Besides that she looks almost the same as the last time he saw her.

Stiles fakes a smile, something he’s had way too much practice doing, but even though he can’t see it he knows it looks weak and forced. He wasn’t expecting such a warm reaction, it’s honestly a little unnerving. Thankfully, Kira doesn’t seem to give his unease any mind. Neither does Parrish who’s standing now, opening his arms for a little half-hug, saying something of the same sentiment as Kira. Except he adds a somber, “Sorry about your dad.”

That makes something tighten in Stiles’ chest, a reminder of something worse than having to confront his old friends. He pushes it down as best he can, shifts his focus back to the room. Lydia offers a weak smile and nothing more. She looks older, hair cut to her shoulders, face more mature. She also looks even more exhausted than Scott does. Malia doesn’t even look at him, keeps her eyes focused on the floor instead. It’s exactly what Stiles expected, but it definitely doesn’t feel good. Still, he just counts himself lucky Theo isn’t here. He’s not quite ready for that reaction yet (probably won’t ever be).

“Sit,” Scott says, gesturing to the small, empty chair across from him, “We were just talking about what happened to your dad.” Stiles swallows and steps further into the room, feeling like all eyes are watching his every move. He sinks into the chair and slumps into himself, trying to make himself smaller. All he wants to do is disappear.

“He’s the third one to end up in a coma, and there have been two after him,” Kira continues, “We think they were poisoned but we still don’t know who- or _what_ \- is doing this.”

“No one’s seen it?” Stiles speaks up, curiosity and concern overriding his discomfort.

“We caught a glance of it,” Parrish answers, gesturing to Lydia next to him, “It’s quick, whatever it is.”

“And very non-human.” Lydia chimes in. 

Stiles searches his mind for supernatural creatures that fit that description before he even knows he’s doing it. After not thinking about the world of monsters in five years it’s beyond strange that it comes back so easily. He remembers quite a few creatures that fit the crtieria but fast and non-human aren’t exactly specific terms. 

“It was outside the preserve,” Parrish continues, “We saw it run by, tried to follow it but we lost it. We found another victim half a mile away.”

“We should watch the preserve in shifts,” Lydia suggests, “Try to find out where it’s going...” 

She continues but Stiles starts to zone out of the conversation a little bit. It’s weird being back here, doing this again. He hasn’t had to think about it in too long, it’s a shock to his system to be doing it again. Everything else in this town is different but this feels the same, and it’s throwing him for a loop.

Everyone continues discussing the thing for a while, Stiles doesn’t chime in again. He doesn’t really know what to say. When the meeting ends he feels more anxious about his dad, but thankfully a little less anxious about his former pack mates. Scott finds him while everyone is clearing out, taking him aside in the dining room. “Hey, I’m really happy you came tonight.” He says, smiling.

“Yeah,” Stiles mutters, forcing a small smile. “I’m glad I did.”

“So, uh...” Scott says, looking a little more hopeful than he did yesterday, “What do you think? Would you...” he trails off, looking at him questioningly. 

Stiles takes a breath. “... I’ll help.” He says. When Scott’s smile widens he adds, “however I can. For my dad.” 

Scott nods. “Thank you so much,” he says, sounding genuinly very relieved. This weird part of him that used to want so badly to please Scott lights up a little bit and he doesn’t know what to do with it. So he just smiles when Scott gives his shoulder a small pat.

Eyes momentarily shifting over to everyone saying their goodbyes and leaving he can’t help but start thinking about Theo. He half expected him to show up at some point. He’d imagined this dramatic scenerio in his head where he’d come in, see Stiles, and storm out, or yell, or something of that nature. Thankfully, he never did, but it is a little strange considering that Scott had made it seem like Theo is with the pack now. 

Scott seems to notice him thinking and he asks, “Hey, man, is everything alright?”

Stiles swallows. The curiosity becomes too much so he asks, “Was uh- was Theo supposed to come tonight?” He’s not sure he even wants the answer once it leaves his lips. 

Scott looks a little uncomfortable at that, like he doesn’t know what he can say, knowing it’s obviously a touchy subject. “Yeah,” he settles on finally, letting out a soft sigh, “He was. I wasn’t sure if you guys were speaking or anything, I should’ve told you,” he looks regretful, “But he ended up texting me that he was working anyways.”

Stiles nods, not knowing how he should feel about this information. He’s relieved Theo didn’t come but he’s even more relieved that the reason he didn’t come had nothing to do with the fact he’s back in town. It’s all confusing and makes his stomach swirl, so he pushes it all down for now. 

 

_”You know, I like the beard.”_

_Stiles huffs out a laugh, looking to Theo as he rubs shaving cream onto his jaw. Theo gives an amused smile back to him._

_The hospital room has become their temporary home while Stiles recovers. Turns out being tortured and malnourished for six months causes some considerable injuries. Along with a badly broken leg that he’ll need months of physical therapy to heal, his scarred, burned arm will need skin grafting. Not to mention he’ll need treatment for the damaged nerves in his hand if he ever wants to use it again, or even just to move it out of the claw-shape it’s stuck in. And that’s just the fucking start._

_Stiles takes a deep breath, feeling himself become anxious. He looks back to Theo, whose now grabbing a razor from the table next to them. Theo’s been at his side through the entire process. He hasn’t even left the hospital since he’s arrived, he showers here, sleeps on the uncomfortable chair at his side, eats off the crappy hospital menu. He’d probably be a huge dick about it if Stiles told him just how grateful he is, but Stiles hopes he knows._

_“Mm, you’re just used to it,” Stiles jokes weakly. He’s off the heavy medication, but painkillers still make him slightly slow and drowsy. It’s beyond frustrating. He wants to get back to normal, doesn’t want to be stuck in this stupid room all hours of the day. He’s been through quite enough of that._

_Moved by his sudden frustration he frowns and says again to Theo, “You know, I can do it,” he even reaches for the razor with his good hand, but Theo swats it away._

_“Let me do it,” He says like he did before, with that same exasperated tone as he raises the blade to Stiles’ jaw. He adds after a second, “You can’t even see yourself.”_

_Stiles huffs, rolls his eyes, but lets Theo proceed without argue. Healing has made it hard to do anything on his own, another annoyance he can do nothing about. At least when Theo does stuff for him it means he doesn’t have to bother his dad or Scott or any of the pack with taking care of him every minute of the day. They have lives that Stiles has intruded on enough, and he and Theo are used to taking care of eachother._

_Stiles sighs as Theo starts to shave the thick beard that had grown over the months they were taken. As much as he hates it, hates the times it represents, it’s gonna be weird without it. It’s like a protective layer. Didn’t end up doing much protecting, though, did it?_

_”Is it weird that I’ll kinda miss it?” He asks, blinking up at Theo._

_Theo continues shaving, but looks down at him and repeats with a smirk, “You’re just used to it.”_

_Stiles snorts. He opens his mouth to joke back but he’s cut off when the half-open door creaks all the way open. Turns out Stiles freaks out a little when the doors closed (so freaking fun, by the way), so they’ve been keeping it open, and everyone’s been pretty considerate about coming in softly, not making any sudden noise. So Stiles isn’t surprised by his dad entering the room, but that doesn’t make the sudden atmosphere shift anymore comfortable._

_He looks them both over as he steps inside, bag of chips and water bottle in one hand. He obviously doesn’t like the scene before him, but he thankfully says nothing, just offers Stiles one of his weak smiles and places the items on the table next to him. Theo doesn’t look up, but the sudden discontent is clear on his face._

_It shouldn’t be this tense, but it is. Spending all his time with only one other person for the last months has made being around anyone else strange for both of them. Not to mention the fact that his dad still isn’t Theo’s biggest fan, despite everything. Stiles supposes it makes sense; up until a few weeks ago they still believed him to be the manipulative bastard that betrayed them at the beginning of senior year. But that feels like so long ago. Hell, he’d probably act the same way if it were anyone else in his place, suddenly buddy-buddy with the supposed enemy. Doesn’t make any of this easier, though._

_Despite all that, though, Stiles feels like he should be fine with his dad and packmates when they come in. They’re his family, he should be happy to see them. But everytime they do, he finds himself wishing he and Theo were alone. There’s this unwanted part of him that is a little angry with them. It’s irrational, he knows; it’s not their fault it took so long to find him. They were looking as best they could, they gave up so much of their time searching leads and trying to track him down._

_But it was a long six months._

_Everything feels different now. He missed a lot of time. Coming to and realizing that he’d missed so much was a little hard to grasp at first. He’d just been relieved he was okay, that they’d actually made it out. Then he started realizing that while they were suffering the pack had already got accepted into colleges, they went to prom, they graduated. Christ, he missed his eighteenth birthday. As slow as time seemed to crawl in that concrete box, life in the outside world went on... without him._

_He’s trying not to let that sink in because if it does he knows he’ll go crazy. He’s trying to just be grateful that they actually survived._

_”There,” Theo says, stirring him from his thoughts, as he grabs a towel from the table next to him. He wipes Stiles’ face clean of shaving cream and then leans back, looking over his work. He smirks, then says, “Same old baby-face.”_

_Stiles rolls his eyes as he huffs out a laugh, running a hand over his now clear face. It’s even stranger than he thought it would be. As Theo leans back to fish something from his pocket, Stiles sees his dad examining him from the other side of the room. Stiles turns to him, shoots him a weak smile. “Do I look good?” He asks jokingly._

_But his dad doesn’t laugh, or even smile. In fact, he’s looking at him with a very strange look. Stiles frowns. Is he... about to cry? The thought is so strange that it makes Stiles feel anxious. Luckily his dad realizes and quickly composes himself. He flashes a half smile, saying, “Yeah, kiddo,” he clears his throat, shifting on his feet as he steps over, “You look great,” he pats him on the back._

_Theo finally fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds the camera in front of him so he can get a look at himself. He stares at himself for a long time, still running his fingers over his naked jaw. He thinks he understands his dad’s reaction now. Theo wasn’t wrong, he looks the same as before they took him; just with the added sickly white complexion, the dark bruising, black eye, small bandages and multiple uncovered, healing knife cuts all over his skin. It’s all easier to spot without the beard covering most of it up._

_Stiles finds himself staring absently at his face for a long time. He thought he’d feel different without the beard. But he still feels... the same. He brushes it off, tries not to let himself feel disapointed at that fact._

 

Stiles doesn’t know why he decides to visit his childhood home instead of returning to his motel. Seeing the pack again’s made him feel a little nostalgic, turns out. Makes him feel like he’s actually ready to go back.

He’s wrong, of course, because the moment he steps inside he nearly collaspes in a panic attack. The house is dark, and messy, like his dad is just minites from coming off a late shift to lounge on the couch and drink a beer. 

Except he’s not. 

Once he calms his breath to a managable degree, he actually makes it more than two steps and gets to examine the house. It’s as messy as his first impression, but that’s not exactly surprising. His dad was never particularly neat, but he kept the house tidy enough to make it liveable for him, and he also had help. It makes him feel guilty; just another thing he messed up with his absence. 

He moves from room to room, making note of the dirty dishes left in the sink and the kitchen table completely full of papers and police files. Under further expection they’re all about the thing that’s been terrorising the town. He hates that his dad was working so hard to solve the mystery, not knowing he was so close to being another victim to it. 

Stiles moves on, not before grabbing a half-drank bottle of whiskey from the disorganized table, and decides to head upstairs. He takes a swig of the burning liquid as he switches on some lights. He takes a deep breath as he moves towards his bedroom door.

It’s closed. Not a surprise either. He doubts his dad wanted to look at his sons abandoned room everyday. He takes another sip out of the bottle before opening the door. When he turns on the light to reveal it, a million memories invade his mind all at once. It’s exactly the same. Nothing out of place, nothing moved. It’s like the day he left it. The day he completely abandoned it.

He steps inside. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s seen it, it’s jarring. Out of all the memories here, the only ones assaulting him are of the months of recovery he spent here. And that makes him think about Theo. They were together constantly even after he was released from the hospital, and this was their home. He runs his fingers over the half-made bed. He feels... like he doesn’t know how to feel. 

He’s abruptly brought out if his daze and back into reality by the doorbell ringing throughout the house. He tenses, feeling more anxiety creep into his gut. Who the hell could be here? He thinks that it might be Scott; his brain can’t supply _why_ exactly he’d be here, but it’s the only option that makes him feel not-terrible, so he sticks with it.

He leaves the bottle on his dresser and descends the staircase, back to the front room. It’s dark, the only ceiling light dimly lighting up the door. He gulps before slowly making his way towards it. He turns the knob, swings the door open, and almost has a heart attack.

Even with only the illumination of the porch light, Stiles instantly recognizes Theo standing on the other side.

Every ounce of normalcy he’s managed to grip onto in the last five years seems to slip away from him all at once at the sight of him. Because it’s like he’s the same person he was back then, broken, scarred, desperately clinging onto Theo in a hollow attempt to feel safe. He doesn’t move; _can’t_ move. He’s never trusted his ability to listen to his fight or flight response, his stupid brain always seems to pick freeze instead. And that’s exactly what it’s doing right now, because Theo’s _here_ , and he can’t move, he can’t breath, _he can’t, he can’t_ -

“Theo.” He says dumbly, because part of him needs to ensure that this is in fact real, that he’s not about to wake up screaming in his motel room.

But if it’s a dream, it’s an incredibly vivid one, because Theo looks exactly like himself. He’s changed some, obviously, his hair is slightly shorter than it was, he seems to have gained all the muscle he’d lost in capativity back, he looks so much healthier than before. But behind all that, it’s Theo, it’s really Theo. Stiles could never mistake those blue eyes.

As he’s telling himself that this is certainly not a dream, he notices Theo’s actual expression. It’s hard to read, exactly, but his mouth is frowned slightly, his brows curved just the slightest bit forward. He looks like he’s examining Stiles as well, just probably more subtly. 

When Theo finally looks back into his eyes he says, “So you’re really back.” He says it like he’s confirming something to himself, something he already knew. He even huffs out this dry chuckle like _of course you are_ , though it doesn’t sound remotely joyful. It sounds bitter.

Stiles’ mouth feels incredibly dry. “Did Scott tell you?” Is all he can ask. So many things are flying through his head right now, but it’s hard to convert any of it into words.

Theo keeps staring at him for a long moment. “He didn’t have to,” he says at last, “I caught your scent when I was passing the hospital.” His eyes dart around the inside of the house for a moment, which makes Stiles realize he’s still standing outside.

He wordlessly opens the door wider and takes a step backwards. He’s not sure _why_ , it’s not like he wants Theo to come in, but it feels wrong leaving him outside. Plus, his brain is basically shutting down and he doesn’t know what else to do besides slam the door in his face and hide in a closet.

It’s truly crazy how little has changed about Theo, including his walk. Remembering something as trivial as the way someone walks seems pointless, but it’s how Stiles’ brain operates, and Theo walks the exact same way as he always has as he moves into the house. Stiles’ eyes are glued to him, even as he shuts the front door behind him. 

And then suddenly Theo’s in the house and the doors closed and Stiles feels like he’s about to have another panic attack. He shifts on his feet, uncomfortable and unsure what he’s supposed to say. _Oh, sorry for abandoning you_ , seems like the wrong option. The situations not made any better by the fact that he can’t get a solid read on Theo. It’s always been fairly difficult to do so, but now especially it seems impossible. He doesn’t know if Theo’s about to reminisce about old times or declare how much he hates him. Probably the latter.

“... What are you doing here?” Stiles finally musters up the courage to ask. He knows his heart is racing in his chest, knows Theo can definitely hear it.

Theo doesn’t comment on or even look fazed by his rapid heartbeat. Instead he answers, “I had to see if I was right.” He turns slightly, looks at the table of picture frames next to him. He shakes his head, huffing out another laugh. “I was,” he adds, quieter. “I guess you’re back because of your dad?” He asks, looking back towards him.

Stiles continues to stand stiffly in place, arms uselessly planted at his side. He nods once. Theo nods as well, looking back at the photos. Something unreadble briefly crosses his face before it returns to the same neutral expression.

Stiles feels like he should be saying something. Half of him wants to start apologizing profusely, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The words simply refuse to form in his mouth. So he just stands there like an idiot, staring at Theo like he’s a ghost.

Theo must notice the lack of speech, because he finally turns his attention fully back on Stiles. “I know you probably weren’t planning on seeing _me_.” He says, voice emotionless, “But I figured we’d run into eachother eventually. Might as well get it over with.” He looks Stiles over once more, “I’m guessing Scott knows your in town by now?”

Stiles swallows to make his throat feel useable. “He’s the one that called me.” He finally manages out.

Theo seems surprised by this, raised eyebrows penetrating the careful mask he’s been wearing. He composes himself almost instantly. “Oh.” He says simply.

Stiles swallows again, feeling slightly more collected as he says, “He wants my help finding whatever attacked my dad.”

Theo’s eyebrows raise again, but this time it seems more purposeful. “So you’re staying?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Stiles nods. Theo looks to be thinking this over, face carefully staying the same. Stiles wishes he knew what he were thinking. “Well, welcome back.” He says, flashing this smirk that Stiles knows is sarcastic and somewhat resentful. Not like Theo’s trying to hide that fact either. He stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and says, “I should get going.”

Stiles steps out of the way as Theo walks back to the door. He stares at him. Is that it? He doesn’t know why, but he expected more. Good or bad, he’s not sure, but... _More_. 

Filled with the urge to get something he’s not sure of out of this reunion, as Theo is opening the door he blurts out, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming back.”

Theo pauses for a moment. Then he turns back, lets out a short, sharp laugh, and says, “It’s not like I was expecting you to. Five years without a call; why should you start now?”

 _Ouch_.

Stiles clenches his teeth together. He knows it’s warranted. He’s gone over this moment in his head more times than he could count, and it’s always resulted in something like this. Doesn’t stop it from feeling like he’s been punched in the gut.

He doesn’t say anything more. Theo lingers, looking like there’s more at the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t say it, only says, “I guess I’ll see you around,” before he’s leaving. The door shuts with a loud bang behind him.

Stiles releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stands in the aftermath, completely frozen again, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He almost expected Theo to yell, get angrier, _something_. This feels worse. So much fucking worse. Stiles takes in a sharp breath and rests his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as always PLEASE let me know your thoughts! Are you guys enjoying the switching timelines? Is there anything specific you like/have questions on? Leave a conment if you have any feedback or questions!!


	4. Paranoid As Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, time got away from me. Hope you enjoy! Leave a comment!

_Stiles might be losing his mind._

_It has to have been weeks by now. Or at least it feels like it’s been weeks. It’s so hard to tell, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible schedule here. Maybe they do that on purpose, add some mind games to go along with the physical torment. If so, it’s definitely working._

_Being comfined in a small space with anyone nearly 24/7 would make Stiles go a little crazy; but with Theo? Fucking Theo? It seems like it’s a hell custom made just for him. They’ve been sleeping close every night, and that has led to Stiles waking up literally resting his head on Theo’s chest, but that’s just so he doesn’t die of hypothermia. It’s not because he cares to be cuddled up to the guy who tried to kill them all a couple months ago. It might be the only thing that’s kept Stiles from literally killing him._

_Stiles rubs his temples, slumped into their make-shift bed corner. He watches Theo carefully, as he does his daily sit-ups. That’s something Theo’s taken to; exercising. The noise of it, the constant movement in the corner of his eye, it all feels like Theo’s intentionally trying to get under his skin. And who knows, maybe he is. Maybe he’s just as angry that they had to get stuck in here together. Along with the constant pain from slowly healing injuries and near constant hunger because of the small amount of food they recieve each day, it makes it impossible to concentrate on a single thought, let alone come up with a plan to get out of here._

_The task seems futile anyways. They’ve gone through everything. There’s very little to work with in the cell, and in the brief amount of time they’re each out they’re under heavy guard. They tried to dismantle the dull light fixture hanging from the ceiling, but all they managed to do was lose light for a day until guards came in and replaced the bulb. Stiles brought up flooding the sink, hoping maybe the guards would remove them both at once to clean it, but Theo pointed out that there’s a good chance they won’t do anything about it and they’ll just have to live in freezing water, so that was scrapped. Now Stiles is at a loss, and he can’t even fucking concentrate on anything-_

_“Jesus fucking Christ, can you stop for ten seconds?” Stiles snaps when Theo switches to his push-ups. Theo stops midway, turns to look at him. “You’re driving me fucking insane, I’m trying to figure out a way out of here.”_

_Theo fixes him with a glare. He huffs and moves so he’s on his knees, turned towards him. “What’s more useful? You coming up with another plan or me keeping my strength up incase we actually have an oppurtunity to get out of here?”_

_Stiles’ eyes widen and he drops his hands from his temples. “Me coming up with a plan, you moron!” He says, sitting up slightly to narrow his eyes angrily at him. “How the hell do you expect to escape without a plan?”_

_Theo huffs out a joyless laugh and stands, pacing slightly as he stretches his arms. “We went through everything.” He says, glancing over down at Stiles, “There is no plan.”_

_Stiles rolls his eyes. “What do you want to do exactly, then? Wait around, fucking working out, until they decide to kill us?”_

_Theo shoots him a look that he can’t really distinguish. Somewhere between concerned and annoyed. “No.” He says, stopping in his tracks. “Wait for a rescue.” Stiles huffs out a breath, “It’s still early. You know Scott is probably already on his way,” he continues, “Probably with the entire pack in tow. All we have to do is live long enough for them to find you.”_

_Stiles sighs and glances away. It’s not like that hasn’t been on his mind. He’s been expecting them for quite a while, now, but as each endless day drags by, with no rescue, he’s begun to lose faith in them. They should’ve found him by now, right? What the hell is taking them so long? He tries not to let it weigh too heavily on his mind. If he can just figure out a way out of here, then he doesn’t have to rely on a rescue._

_Of course that would be easier if he had more help than an asshole chimera._

_He shouldn’t complain. At least he doesn’t have to worry about someone else getting hurt here. He wouldn’t want any of his packmates subjected to this, couldn’t bare seeing them in pain that he could do nothing to stop. He should consider himself lucky that it’s only Theo, and he doesn’t care what happens to him (He skillfully ignores the fact that everytime Theo’s thrown back in with a new set of injuries he feels a sick feeling in his gut that’s suspiciously close to empathy)._

_Still, that doesn’t stop him from wishing Theo would be a little bit more useful and less willing to just wait around for someone else to save them. If the weeks that have already gone by are any indication of their chances of rescue, they’re never getting out of here._

_Theo stands and walks over to the sink, cups his hands and drinks some of the rust-flavored water. As he turns to tap off, he says, “You should be keeping your strength up too. It’ll help you heal faster.”_

_Stiles doesn’t doubt that, but it’s hard to find the will to move, let alone excercise, when his entire body is on fire. What’s the point, anyways? In a few days it’ll be his turn again to be taken out and tortured, and then he’ll have new injuries that have to heal. Instead of explaining any of this to Theo, he only huffs out an irritated breath and returns to rubbing his temples, this time shutting his eyes._

_He opens them again when he feels Theo sit down next to him. He rests against his sheet, putting an arm behind his head. Stiles watches him for a moment. Despite focusing most of his limited energy on planning, he can’t seem to stop himself from thinking one thing; why exactly is Theo so calm? Why isn’t he getting frustrated and panicked like Stiles, searching for any possible way out of this terrible situation? The same answer comes back every time and he always hates it; Theo is used to this._

_Stiles is still fuzzy on the details, but from what he does know, Theo spent nearly eight years with the dread doctors. It’s not hard to imagine that most of his teen years were spent in situations similar to this, trapped, tortured, learning when to go along to avoid further injury. The thought makes Stiles feel weird. It makes it sound like Theo is more human than monster, and that’s a dangerous road to go down. Especially when he doesn’t know for sure. Who knows, maybe his childhood was nothing like that, maybe it was fine and he’s not worried because he’s an unfeeling sociopath. Stiles just wishes he could make himself believe any of that._

_Stiles pushes those unwanted thoughts away. Instead he drums his fingers against his chest. “Tell me how they caught you again.” He asks, needing to focus on planning again._

_Theo rolls his eyes. To be fair, this is about the hundreth time Stiles has asked him, but it’s important. They still don’t know why these people took them, they don’t seem to want any information, but they also know who the two of them are, so it must’ve been targeted. Stiles got snatched at a gas station, late at night after he’d just left Scott’s. He wishes this information was more helpful._

_“I was driving near the preserve,” he explains, sounding irked at having to repeat himself yet again, “A car stopped in front of me and they shot something at me.” He licks his lips. Almost exactly the same as what happened to him. But what the hell does that mean? Why did they want the two of them? It just doesn’t makes sense. Theo glances up at him and says, “You know, that story hasn’t changed in the last day and half.”_

_Now it’s Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes. Though he’s heard it so many times, he still has trouble with one aspect of his story. He swallows and decides to ask, “What exactly were you doing near the preserve?” He furrows his brows, then adds, “Hell, what have you even been doing since the beast? No one’s heard from you in months.”_

_Theo looks almost tense at the question. He relaxes after a moment, like he realizes and hadn’t meant to show so much emotion. It only serves to confuse Stiles more. “I’ve been around.” He answers cryptically._

_Stiles raises his brows. “You’ve been around?” He stresses the word, trying to point out how idiotic it sounds. “Seriously? What the hell does that even mean?”_

_Theo huffs, looking back up with irritation clear on his face. “It means I was around.” He says pointedly. “Why the hell does it matter what I was doing? I had nothing to do with this, if that’s what you’re wondering. I have no fucking clue who any of these guys are or why we’re here. Just drop it.”_

_Stiles is surprised by the sudden burst of emotion breaking the calculatedly calm exterior. He must’ve really hit a nerve. It only makes his curiosity grow more and wonder why exactly Theo’s being so cagey. Strangely, though, no part of him believes Theo had anything to do with this. He tends to trust his instinct, and his instinct is saying that Theo doesn’t want ro be here either and the nerves are starting to get to him._

_That unwanted empathy starts to creep back into his gut. He tries to shake it again, but it’s harder this time. Especially when Theo sighs and mutters, “I’m exhausted. You can interrogate me when I wake up,” while simultaneously shifting closer to him and closing his eyes._

_Stiles watches him as he slowly drifts to sleep, slightly confused and even more concerned. Mainly at the fact that he feels the urge to move even closer._

 

Stiles takes a sip of coffee as he limps through the hospital hall. He truly got zero sleep last night. He decided to stay at his dad’s house instead of going back to the motel, and that proved to be a challenging place to fall asleep. He tried his old bedroom, but that almost made him have a panic attack, so he stayed on the couch instead. That too was challenging, but mostly because he couldn’t stop thinking about Theo. He went over their conversation in his head all night, trying to make out how he feels, how he _should_ feel.

Needless to say he’s still beyond confused and now is exhausted, only kept awake by about a million cups of coffee and pure willpower. Feels like highschool all over again.

He rubs his eyes as he approaches his dad’s room and has to do a double take when he looks over and sees Theo standing in the doorway. His eyes widen slightly, and he has to looks very carefully to be sure he isn’t just a figment of his sleep-deprived imagination. He concludes that he is real and here, at least it _seems_ like it. But his mind has played tricks on him before. 

He’s truly sold when Theo turns to him, looking like he heard him coming. Still, he seems uncomfortable, maybe even nervous. Two emotions he’s never associated with Theo until now. 

“What’re you doing here?” Stiles asks, a lot more coherent than he was last night. Still not very confident, admittedly, but it’s progress.

Theo glances him over once in that way that made Stiles squirm last night. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, then answers, “Scott has us on shifts to watch your dad,” his eyes peak into the room briefly then back to Stiles, “I’ve been in the waiting room, I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.” He swallows thickly. “I’ll go back down there.”

He starts walking past Stiles towards the direction of the elevator. Stiles hates how serious he sounds. It feels wrong. Like Theo is another thing in this town that looks the same but is completely changed. He’s also not sure how to feel about the fact that Theo’s been here the entire time he has, waiting, probably listening in to him whispering to his dad’s lifeless body. 

Stiles grits his teeth, turns and calls out, “Wait!” The moment Theo stops and looks back, eyes a little wide and eyebrows raised he regrets it. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to say, or if he even _wants_ to say anything.

He lets out a deep breath and sags a little. “This is weird.” He decides on, like it wasn’t obvious by the nearly palpable tension between them. “I-“ he shifts where he’s standing, “I don’t know what to say,” he admits. Maybe it’s the exhausten finally getting to him, but he needs to talk to Theo. About what exactly? He’s not sure yet. But winging it is usually his go-to course of action. 

Theo shrugs, that bitter smile back. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Stiles bites his tongue. “Yes I do.” He admits, a bit louder than he meant to. “I know you hate me-“

“Hate you?” He interrupts, tilting his head. He lets out a humorless laugh. “Wow,” Stiles furrows his brows. “Still paranoid as ever, huh?” Theo asks, that familiar smugness returning in a way that almost makes him seem like himself. 

Stiles feels a little spark of anger at this. “I’m not _paranoid_.” He argues with renewed vigor, “I’m cautious. I think I have the right to be after...” he trails off, not realizing how dangerously close he was to discussing what he refuses to talk about. “Listen,” he starts again, calming down, “I just- don’t want things to be weird if we’re going to have to interact for a while.”

Theo’s jaw twitches. He hides it with another bitter laugh. “We don’t have to have some heartfelt reunion, Stiles,” Stiles almost shivers at the sound of Theo’s voice saying his name again, “We just have to deal with eachother until we figure out how to stop this thing and you can get back on a plane to wherever you came from.”

The words sting, but they only make the anger glow bright in Stiles’ chest. He’s about to open his mouth to argue back (about what, still not clear), but they’re interrupted by the sound of two phone text alerts going off at once.

The sudden anger leaves just as quickly as it came as Stiles makes a confused face. Theo’s brows furrow as well. They both pull their phones from their pockets and check the messages. It’s from Scott. The single message reads, _Emergency meet at our place asap_. They both seem to finish reading it at the same moment because they both look up at eachother in concern.

 

They rush over to Scott’s, of course in seperate cars, and Stiles notices right away that they’re the only two cars in the driveway besides Scott’s. They wordlessly enter the house to find Scott pacing the living room. He looks relieved when he looks up and sees them.

He lets out a sharp breath. “Kira and Lydia ran into the Thing,” he starts immediately, sounding worried, “It ran in front of them while they were driving, it almost wrecked the car.”

“Are they okay?” Stiles interjects, worry lacing his voice. He doesn’t think he coukd handle more bad news piling on to the shit show that is this entire situation. 

“Yeah, yeah, they’re okay,” Scott reassures hastily, scratching the back of his head, “Kira’s a little scratched up, though. She’s at her parent’s, they have this herbal recipe that’ll heal her. And Lydia’s with Parrish and Malia, they’re trying to see if there’s any evidence they can get off the car.” He takes a breath, looks between the two of them (standing purposefully a good few feet apart from each other). He says, “That’s not why I texted you guys. The point is we think we know where the Thing is.”

“Where?” Theo chimes in, arms crossed over his chest where he’s leaning against the wall. It shouldn’t be, but it’s strange to see him and Scott interacting with anything other than hostility or annoyance. Sure, when Theo was lying to them all they acted civil, but that wasn’t the real Theo so it doesn’t count. The last time he saw them together was whenever Scott would visit him in the hospital and eventually at home when he was released, and Theo was always with him. They were just short of despising eachother then, he wonders when exactly things changed.

“On the other side of the preserve, but we don’t know for sure.” He swallows, looks between them once again, but this time it feels different. Like he’s stalling. Stiles furrows his brows, but then Scott finally asks, “Could you two patrole tonight?”

Stiles’ stomach sinks. Confronting Theo at all after five years is rough enough, the thought of spending hours in a car with him is terrifying. He’s barely been able to form two sentences around him, how the hell is he expected to be with him for that long without having a full-blown anxiety attack?

Luckily, Theo seems to feel the same as he quickly says, “I can do it alone.” Stiles doesn’t know _why_ exactly the words make his gut clench, it’s not like he wants to patrole with him, but the sharpness of the words make him feel funny.

“We have to go in pairs, that’s what we’ve been doing.” Scott says to Theo like he already knows this information. Theo pointedly looks to the floor. Scott sighs and adds, “I wouldn’t ask, but everyone’s busy and I have to be with Kira.” He looks pleadingly to Stiles, “Is this okay with you?”

 _Nonononono_

“I’ll do anything to catch this thing,” Stiles responds. Not _exactly_ a lie. He will do this, albeit dreading every single moment of it. He refuses to glance back over at Theo, but he can tell from the corner of his eye that his body language is tense, irritated. Stiles swallows and stares at the carpet.

Scott turns to Theo, that same pleading look still on his face. A second goes by before Theo finally huffs out a breath and mutters, “Fine.”

Stiles hates how disgusted he sounds at the prospect of having to spend time with him. More importantly, though, he hates how much it bothers him.

 

_Stiles is half-way asleep when he hears oncoming footsteps. He glances around, noting that he’s still alone and Theo’s still gone. He huffs out a breath, silently cursing them for waking him when he was just getting to sleep. In the weeks they’ve been trapped here, he’s realized something; he can’t sleep alone anymore._

_He’s become so accustomed to cuddling up to Theo during the freezing nights that whenever Theo is taken and he wants to pass the time alone by sleeping, his body simply refuses to let him. It’s not even like he can blame it entirely on the cold because it’s warmer during the day, certainly warm enough for him to sleep without the presence of his personal werewolf heater. It’s all seriously made him dread Theo being taken away, even more sometimes than when they take him._

_But it seems like he’s returning now, judging by the steps getting closer. Stiles sits up, bracing himself slightly, though there’s really no reason for him to expect any sort of struggle. They take them one at a time, giving at least a few days in between each. It’s almost comforting, the routine of it, if it wasn’t so fucked up. He knows when to expect pain, knows when to expect this awful time alone._

_The heavy door finally slams open, two guards standing on the other side. Stiles furrows his brows slightly when he sees that they’re basically carrying Theo’s weight, him slumped and them having their hands on his shoulders. Before he has a chance to really question it they’re dropping him in; emphasis on drop, because he falls to his knees, only barely managing to brace his fall with his hands._

_Stiles watches the door shut again before turning his eyes back on Theo. He’s still hunched over on his knees, panting slightly, face hidden. The whole scene makes his stomach churn. Theo never acts like this after they torture him, he always hides his pain, just crawling over to their sheets and lying down, his occasional winces the only indictation that he’s actually been hurt. This, though, this is different. And it’s terrifying._

_“Theo?” He asks, voice apprehensive and quiet. He starts to move slightly closer, but that’s when Theo finally lifts his head. It’s pale, coated in a cold sweat._

_He doesn’t say a word, only groans as he crawls over. Stiles watches carefully as he basically falls onto his sheet, noteably lying on his stomach instead of his back. Stiles opens his mouth to ask what the hell happened, but loses the words in his throat when he sees it; The blood._

_The back of his shirt is absolutely soaked in red. It looks like someone dumped a bucket of blood on him, though Stiles’ stomach turns, wishing he could believe that instead of the alternative. “Jesus, fucking...” Stiles stares wide-eyed at him, “Are you alright? What the fuck did they do?”_

_“I’m fine.” Theo mutters, voice forced and weak. He pulls his arms up with a pained noise and rests his head in them, closing his eyes._

_That’s complete bullshit, and they both know it. Stiles watches Theo for a moment longer, but he’s unable to sit there and not do something. He reaches out and pulls up the back of his shirt, causing Theo to let out a pained noise. Stiles barely hears it, way too focused on what’s in front of him. It’s even worse than he expected._

_The skin on Theo’s back is completely torn away, leaving only pink tissue and blood in its wake. Stiles has to cover his mouth at the sight of it, feeling woozy at the thought of what they did. It’s not like much is left up to his imagination, either, which is just adding to the sickness he’s feeling._

_“Oh my god...” he nearly whispers, not sure what else to say. He forcefully removes his eyes from the horrific injury, instead looking hopelessly around the room. He has to do something, he has to, anything to try to fix this, but the room is very limited in it’s supplies. It makes him feel trapped suddenly, somehow more than he did before. He feels like the room is closing in on him, and he can’t stop a certain unwanted thought from creeping into his head; what if Theo dies? He can barely handle a few hours alone, what the hell is he going to do if he’s permantly alone here? He didn’t realize how attached he’s been becoming to the constant company- Hell, how attached he’s become to Theo- until now, and it’s making him spiral. Chimeras don’t necessarily heal like werewolves, what if the wound gets infected?_

_“Jesus,” he runs his fingers through his hair, taking in a forceful breath. His hands are starting to shake where he’s still holding up Theo’s shirt. He lets go of it, muttering to himself, “What should I- Jesus, how do I...” he glances down at the sheet he’s sitting on and quickly moves into action, taking it and tearing off an uneven strip._

_As he stands and starts moving towards the sink he hears Theo say weakly, “It’ll heal, Stiles, don’t waste the sheet.”_

_Stiles frowns, wetting the crumpled up sheet scrap. “Your goddamn back is completely...” He trails off, making a face. He quickly goes back to Theo and kneels next to him. His hands hover unsurely over his wounds. He swallows thickly and moves the makeshift cloth down onto the bloodier skin. Theo hisses, and it almost makes Stiles stop, but he relaxes again after a moment. With renewed confidence he starts cleaning Theo’s back. There’s not much he can do, but he does manage to get clean a lot of the blood. And more importantly, the cold water seems to relieve just a little bit of Theo’s pain._

_When the cloth is more dark red than white Stiles pulls it away. He frowns, feeling like he should be doing more but not having a clue what he can possibly do to help. “What should I do?” He asks, dropping the cloth and turning back to Theo’s face, “Jesus, Theo, I don’t know what to fucking do!” He feels himself panicking again, this awful feeling like Theo’s going to die. Why isn’t he healing? Shouldn’t the skin be healing by now?_

_“I’m fine,” Theo repeats, “Just-“ he winces as he takes Stiles’ hand in his and brings it closer to him. Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise. But Theo sighs in almost relief, closing his eyes again._

_Stiles is frozen for a long time, staring at their intertwined hands. He briefly wonders what about this is helping. Is it the human contact? Is it providing some sort of comfort? It’s hard to say, and Theo’s obviously not in a place to be interrogated, so Stiles decides not to question it. He’s honestly just relieved that he’s actually helping in some way, even if he doesn’t understand how._

_He feels his growing anxiety start to melt a little as he shifts into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. Theo shifts as well, wincing again, coming closer so his head is on Stiles’ lap. Stiles’ eyes widen as he stares at the head suddenly resting on him. It’s hard to say if it was an intentional move, but Stiles doesn’t exactly feel the need to push him away. He settes again, taking in a long breath._

_They sit in silence for what feels like a long time before Stiles, not able to stop staring at his back, finally asks, “Why aren’t you healing?”_

_“I will,” Theo answers after a second, voice gruff and tired. He usually sounds so cocky, the sudden vulnerability is confusing. Theo sighs, adding, “Just give it time.”_

_Stiles doesn’t like that answer, but knows pressing will get him nowhere. There’s another beat of silence before Theo says out of nowhere, “I was living in my car.”_

_Stiles furrows his brow. “What?” He asks, as Theo glances up at him, eyes tired._

_“After the beast,” Theo clarifies, voice sounding slightly delirious now, “That’s what I was doing. That’s why I was near the preserve when they took me.”_

_Stiles processes the information and can’t figure out how the hell he’s supposed to feel about it. One part of him knows that he deserved it. He was a terrible person, he got all of them hurt, nearly killed Scott. He shouldn’t feel bad. That’s why he’s so confused when the other part of him actually feels something resembling compassion. He tries to shake that thought off. He does not feel bad for Theo Raeken. He glances away, not knowing what he’s supposed to say. He finally mutters, “You could’ve just told me that.”_

_He’s surprised when Theo huffs out a laugh. He looks back down, eyes narrow, as Theo says, “So you could assume I was using it to get sympathy?” He asks, voice still amused, “Like you need another reason to hate me.”_

_“I-“ Stiles starts, but quickly shuts his mouth. It’s not like he’s wrong. Stiles would probably have assumed that. He hates Theo’s ability to read him. He grits his teeth and says, “It’s not like you’re thrilled about getting stuck with me either.”_

_Theo stares up at him for a moment, eyes softening. The genuine gentleness in the stare is beyond confusing. “If I had to get stuck with anybody, I’m glad it was you.” Is what he says at last, stating it like it’s somehow obvious._

_Stiles’ eyes widen again. He doesn’t even know how to begin processing that. “Why?” He finds himself asking in a small voice, unable to stop himself._

_Theo’s eyes dart around his face before they settle on looking Stiles in the eye. “I’ve always liked you. You have to have figured that out by now.”_

_Stiles can feel his cheeks heating up. He can’t deny that at all, and he hates it. Theo’s always seemed to have this fondness towards him, in a twisted sort of way, even after his true intentions were revealed the night he tried to kill Scott. Their relationship was still strained, obviously, but it always seemed like that was Stiles’ doing. Theo never mirrored Stiles’ animosity towards him for some reason, and it would be a lie to say Stiles had never given that some thought. Still, though, he argues, “Yeah? Is that why you hurt and almost killed all of my friends?”_

_Theo’s shoulders shrug weakly. “Never hurt you.” He says quietly, still looking up with that gentle look._

_Stiles rolls his eyes as he quickly looks away, hiding his cross between uncomfortable and completely confused at what the hell he’s feeling right now. What Theo of all people is making him feel. “You ‘ave no idea what I thought about everytime I saw you.” Theo huffs out a laugh, this one sounding more slurred. “And you know, it’s cute how worried you are about me.”_

_Stiles can feel his blush getting darker. “What?!” He says indignantly, “I’m not- I wasn’t-“ he grits his teeth at Theo’s growing smirk, like despite everything he can still somehow find it in himself to be cocky. The consistency is astounding. But all Stiles can think about is how Theo fucking Raeken is laying in his lap and calling him cute and admitting to things that Stiles doesn’t know how to process. “I was worried about being alone, okay? Not about you.” He doesn’t need werewolf hearing to be able to tell that was a lie._

_Theo laughs again, weaker. “You like me too.” He says, letting his eyes fall shut, smug smile still on his face. “I can tell. Mmm... adorable.”_

_Stiles can tell he’s beat red by now. “You’re delirious.” Stiles dismisses, still staring at his face. Theo hums in agreement, squeezing Stiles’ hand a little bit tighter. He shifts, causing another wince, before he settles at last, seeming to be ready to clock out. Stiles can’t stop staring down at him._

_Part of him desperately wants to believe that Theo is trying to manipulate him; maybe he wants Stiles to feel close to him, an insurance that if Stiles does get out he’l bring Theo with him. But he can’t seem to make that theory stick, because he keeps thinking one thing._

_What if he’s not?_

 

Tense isn’t a strong enough word.

Tense is for dinner after getting into a fight with your parents. Tense is for walking into school after an argument with your friends. Tense is for returning to your hometown five years later and having to confront all the people you left behind. The images that tense bring to mind are simply not enough to describe... _this_. 

Sitting in a car with the guy you promised everything to, that promised _you_ his entire world, after wordlessly abandoning him one night for years and then returning without a warning. The air around them isn’t just thick, it’s absolutely suffocating, so much so that Stiles is genuinely worried he might choke.

This isn’t tense, this is something way beyond fucking _tense_ , this is a word that Stiles doesn’t know. Not to mention he’s fucking exhausted, mentally and physically, which is only adding to the terribleness of the situation.

He hasn’t looked away from the passengers seat window of Theo’s truck. He _can’t_. He doesn’t want to confront Theo’s face, his unfamilar cold eyes, though he’s fairly certain Theo’s looking away as well. Nothing has been said in what feels like hours. Stiles glances down and checks his phone again. 7:46. How the hell has it only been twenty minutes? Stiles’ bad leg is shaking and if Theo’s bothered by it he doesn’t say anything. 

It’s not like Stiles can do anything else to relieve his pent-up nervous energy. They’re supposed to be patrolling, but they haven’t heard a peep yet. Stiles wishes they would see something, _anything _. It’s not like he can even talk to make things less uncomfortable. What the hell would he even say? Their conversation earlier wasn’t exactly pleasant and Stiles isn’t very eager to have a repeat. So he just keeps bobbing his leg up and down, shaking his seat slightly each time he does.__

__“Can you stop?” Theo suddenly snaps, bursting the more-than-tense bubble like shattering glass. Stiles jumps, looks over to see Theo staring at him in annoyance. He looks as stiff as Stiles feels, and for a second Stiles is grateful that he’s not the only one._ _

__Stiles stops almost instantly, eyes slightly wide. He swallows and looks down at his lap. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Theo run his hand through his hair. “...I’m sorry.” He murmurs after a moment._ _

Stiles glances back to him and Theo looks genuinely remorseful for his outburst. Stiles nods once, jaw clenching and unclenching umcomfortable. The car returns back to its deafening silence. Stiles lasts about thirty seconds before he feels his brain begin to melt. 

“Have you seen it?” He asks without prompting. The moment he does he kind of wishes he had just held his tongue. He just can’t help it, maybe it’s because he’s becoming delirious from the lack of sleep. He scratches the back of his nervously as he looks at Theo. He’s staring back at him, slightly surprised by the seemingly normal question. But they both know it’s not _about_ the question. “The Thing?” Stiles clarifies.

Theo swallows and looks back out the window. “No.” He answers minimally. Stiles taps the fingers on his good hand against his knee.

“I live in New York.” He blurts, chewing on the end of his thumb nail. And oh yeah, definitely delirious. Theo’s head snaps over to look at him. They share a long stare before Stiles feels the need to add, “Earlier you said... I- I just thought you should know. That’s where I live...” he trails off, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. He just doesn’t know what else to say. Maybe he shouldn’t even be saying anything. Something just doesn’t sit right about Theo not knowing where he was all this time. Of course it would’ve helped if Stiles had actually _told_ him instead of disappearing on him, which just makes Stiles gut curl in guilt.

Theo’s eyes linger a second longer, expression blank and indiscernible. He turns away, but instead of remaining in stoic silence, he repeats, “New York...” he sounds almost curious. Yet he doesn’t say anything else. Stiles frowns.

Something about this, sitting in the car, patrolling together, makes Stiles’ mind wander to that night they were watching that body outside of Deaton’s during senior year. Feels like everything’s changed since then. Stiles hated Theo then, didn’t think they should trust him. He knew exactly where they stood. Now, though, now Stiles has no clue where Theo stands or even where he stands for that matter. Everything seemed so clear back in New York, when did it all become such a complicated mess?

“Earlier,” Stiles starts, voice far from anything sounding remotely confident, causing Theo to glance back at him, “When you said- when you said I was being paranoid,” his finger tapping becomes more rapid and he can’t make himself look Theo in the eye, “does that mean you don’t...” he trails off, hopes Theo understands what he’s getting at.

Thankfully Theo seems to. In fact, he huffs out another sharp laugh, shaking his head. “So you still just blurt out whatever’s on your mind, huh?”

Stiles frowns, looking back at him. “Just-“ he cuts himself off when he hears the sharpness in his tone. He takes a breath, tries again, “Just _tell me_.” He stresses, clenching his jaw. If Theo can just tell him where they stand then he won’t have to worry anymore. If Theo hates him, then great, closure, he can forget. He _can_.

Theo’s face is unreadable for a moment. Stiles can feel himself tense. Then Theo finally looks at him, bitter little smile completely gone and asks, “What do you want me to say, Stiles?” His eyes examine Stiles’ face, “You left.” He shrugs, hurt hidden blatantly disguised behind anger, “You’ve been gone for how long?” his eyes seem to pierce into Stiles’, “And you expect everything to just be normal?”

Stiles swallows thickly, unable to hold his gaze. He finds himself staring at his scarred hand, that’s what he always does when he’s nervous. And his nerves are through the fucking roof right now. “I had to leave.” He mutters quietly, running his fingers over his burned flesh.

“Oh, you _had_ to leave?” Theo says accusingly, eyebrows raising. Stiles looks back at him as he continues, “Why’s that exactly? Why did you _have_ to leave suddenly without telling me?” He swallows, quickly correcting, “Without telling anyone?”

Stiles furrows his brows, that anger rising back in his throat. “I have my fucking reasons, okay?” He snaps, hands curling into fists on his lap. 

Theo scoff, shaking his head again. “I understand your reasons,” he turns his head back over, “I’m just not letting what happened control the rest of my life.”

Stiles freezes, any fight he just had draining from him all at once. Thinking about something and talking about it are two different things. Talking about it makes it real. Stiles hasn’t actually talked about what happened since he left, he hasn’t let his dad bring it up to him, obviously hasn’t told anyone back in New York, stopped therapy as soon as he moved. He successfully put it all behind him, it was _gone_. And now Stiles can feel his chest constricting and Theo is _still_ talking. 

“It happened. You can’t just run away from-“

“Stop.” Stiles says sharply, body literally recoiling at the mention of what happened. “Just- I’m not gonna talk about-“ he cuts himself off, “Just, _please_...” his frantic finger tapping resumes as he prays that Theo drops the subject.

Thankfully he does with a face that Stiles could almost mistake as concern. He takes a deep breath, turning back towards his window. As Stiles feels himself calm slightly Theo asks in a quieter, less accusatory voice, “Do you know how many voicemails I left you?” He takes another breath, “After a while I figured you’d just blocked my number.”

Stiles stares at him for a long time, guilt striking him right in the chest. The part that makes him the most guilty is that he knows exactly what voicemails Theo’s talking about. He never could bring himself to block Theo’s number, but he never dared answer or listen to any messages he left; so he watched as the voicemails kept pouring in until one day they just- _stopped_. They’re sitting on his phone now, unheard. 

“I’m-“

“Do you hear that?” Theo interrupts, entire body language changing as he sits up and looks out the window, as if listening.

Stiles swallows. “What?” He asks, hand tightening around his arm rest. 

Theo is silent for a second just before a loud, animalistic sound pierces the night and the car shakes. Stiles watches out the windshield in horror as what can only be described as a giant _Thing_ rushes past the car. It’s fast as anything Stiles has ever seen and almost as soon as it’s there it’s gone, leaving only a rattling car. 

Stiles comes back to his sense slowly, and when he does he realizes that his hand is gripping Theo’s right arm and Theo’s left arm is covering his body. Stiles hadn’t even realized, it just... happened. He releases his grip quickly, pulling his hand away as Theo does the same. They share brief eye contact before they both avert their eyes, seemingly equally surprised. 

There’s a long, drawn out silence before Stiles says, “I should-I should call Scott,” he pulls out his phone. Theo nods slightly, scratching the back of his head. As he puts the phone up to his ear he can see Theo glance over at him from the corner of his eye. His stare lingers a moment too long and Stiles swallows, feeling his face heat up. 

He’s not even sure which is more confusing, the fucking monster they just saw or the way he’s feeling about Theo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys enjoying this story? I really like writing it, hope you guys are liking it just as much. Let me know where you think it’s going, where you’d like it to go, your favorite part, just about anything! All comments are super appreciated!! :))


	5. Getting Along

_The air is warm, but the kind of warm that comes from Summer nights when there’s a slight breeze that cools you down. Stiles closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath of the outside world. Part of him thought he’d never get another oppurtunity to breath in this air, fresh, clean air, so this almost feels like a dream. Well, maybe it would be if he could actually forget everything that’s led up to now._

_The sounds of distant ambulances rip Stiles from his little daydream and he opens his eyes again, looking out at the starless night sky from his view on the roof. He sighs in a breath, and winces when it comes out a little forced. He runs his working fingers over the cool metal of the vent he’s sitting on. He feels every crack, every bump, trying to center himself._

_He lets out another sigh when he hears a door creak open behind him. He doesn’t bother turning around, closing his eyes again instead. He braces himself for his dad’s concerned voice, telling him he shouldn’t be up here, he shouldn’t be alone._

_“You know, if anyone else found you up here they’d have some serious concerns.”_

_Stiles turns and lets out a breath of relief when he sees Theo slowly walking towards him. “I can’t be in that room anymore.” He says frustratedly, turning back to look out at the night as Theo approaches him._

_Theo hums in agreement, behind him now. He glances at the crutches next to him and says, “Aren’t you supposed to be using your wheelchair?”_

_Stiles turns and shoots him a glare. Theo returns it with a teasing smile. Stiles shakes his head, saying, “If I hear someone tell me to use that stupid chair one more time...” he trails off when Theo takes a seat behind him and wraps his arms around Stiles’ middle. Stiles sighs in contentment and leans against him, as Theo rests his head on his shoulder. “Do you know how hard it is to use crutches with one working hand by the way?” He asks, shutting his eyes, “It’s fucking hard.”_

_Theo chuckles softly. Stiles glances down at his bandage-wrapped, claw-shaped hand. He attempts futilely to move it, even just a finger, but once again comes up short. He huffs out an annoyed breath, leans back against Theo again._

_”I know dad and Scott and everyone else are trying to help,” Stiles continues, feeling the need to get this off his chest while he and Theo are alone. They’re so rarely left alone anymore, someone else is always in the hospital room with him. “But Jesus, being around them all the time is- just...” he feels guilt creep into his chest. He knows he’s being ungrateful, he knows that. Everyone’s just doing their best. It’s just that being around so many people suddenly, all of them doting on him like a wounded puppy, it’s all too much. He sighs and says at last, “Everyone is just getting on my last fucking nerve.” He leans his head back._

_Theo hums in his ear. “Everyone?”_

_Stiles turns to look at the side of his face, cracks a grin. “Okay, mostly everyone.” He corrects. Theo smiles again, and looking at him now Stiles can tell how tired he is, Stiles must’ve woken him up. However, besides his slightly sunken, red tinted eyes and greasy hair he looks completely normal. There are no lasting scars on his face, not lasting marks of any kind anywhere. Stiles feels guilty of how jealous he is._

_A small laugh escapes Theo’s mouth suddenly, making Stiles look back with furrowed brows. “Did you ever think you’d be saying that about me when you slammed me against that fence over there?” He looks back to the chainlink fence twenty or so feet away from them. Stiles suddenly has a vivid flash of that night, the sparks, slamming Theo against the metal._

_Stiles snorts. “I almost forgot about that.” He runs his fingers over Theo’s hands still wrapped around his waist. That feels like a hundred years ago. It feels like it was two completely other people that just happened to have their faces. He wishes his friends could forget it too and stop shooting Theo dirty looks everytime they came in to visit him. “Simpler times.”_

_Theo hums again, arms shifting their grip. “You won’t be in here forever,” he says, resting his head back on his shoulder, “they’re gonna release you soon.”_

__

_“Yeah,” Stiles says with a sigh. He has no idea why the thought fills him with dread. Just a few months ago all he wanted in the world was to be back home, even if just for a moment. But now that it’s approaching..._

_”Where would you go,” he says out of nowhere, staring off into the night sky, “If you could start over somewhere else, anywhere else, where would it be?”_

_Theo waits a moment before answering, considering. Then he smirks and answers, “Anywhere but here.” He hooks Stiles’ hands in his, “I do get to take you with me, right?”_

_Stiles snorts. “You better.” He doesn’t know what he’d do without Theo. He never really understood the concept of anchors, but he does now. Theo is his anchor in every sense of the word. And he’s pretty sure the feelings mutual. “We should go live on a beach or something.” He says dreamily, “When I get out of here. Just us. Away from anyone else.”_

_Theo’s laugh rings in his ear. “We could get one of those old beach houses, fix it up.” He looks off, as if picturing it, “Eat pizza and watch the sunset every night. I’ll even let you make me watch all those sci-fi movies you love.”_

_Stiles sighs in contentment. “Sounds perfect.” He says quietly. He tries to forget that he can’t walk anymore, that he can’t move his hand, that he’s probably going to need therapy for the rest of his life. At their beach none of that would matter. They could be different people, people who didn’t go through the shit they went through. It really would be perfect._

_The sound of the roof door creeking open pulls Stiles out of their fantasy. He sighs again, this time in slight frustration, resting his head against Theo’s shoulder._

_“Stiles!” His dad’s familiar worried voice calls out. Stiles huffs and finally turns, shifting out of Theo’s grip. “Jesus, kid, you know you’re not supposed to be up here.” His worry is melting into relief. Stiles looks him over. He’s carrying the folded up wheelchair._

_“Sorry,” Stiles says. And he is. He never wants to make his dad worry, he’s done enough of that while he was missing. “Just needed... some fresh air.”_

_His dad sighs. “Okay. But you also need rest.” Stiles doesn’t miss the accusatory glance his dad shoots Theo. Theo doesn’t respond to it in any way but Stiles is sure he saw it too. He starts unfolding the wheelchair and Theo stands. He extends a hand out and Stiles sighs before taking it. He’s pulled up into a position where he can lean most of his weight against Theo so his bad leg doesn't touch the floor._

_He winces as Theo walks him the short distance to the wheelchair and helps him sit down. As soon as he’s sitting his dad puts a firm hand on his shoulder and gives him a seriously concerned look. It seems since coming back even his mere presence is enough to make everyone worry. Stiles sighs again when his dad starts rolling him back towards the door, watching distantly as Theo grabs his crutches from where they were leaning and follows behind them._

_Theo shoots him a sympathetic half smile as he follows. Stiles takes in a breath, staring ahead instead._

 

Sun shines through the windows in Scott’s living room, making the all the furniture cast shadows on the wooden floors. Stiles glances down at his book and notices that the sun is also making the pages glow a dim yellow. He looks back up at Lydia sitting on the couch across from him and Malia a distance away sitting at the kitchen island. 

Stiles swallows, shifting in his seat. He’s significantly less anxious about being here than he was the other night, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely comfortable being around the pack, even if it’s just for silent research. Nothing’s changed; he left, he lost contact, he abandoned everyone. Just because Scott and Kira forgive him doesn’t mean shit. That’s certainly been proven by his last conversation with Theo.

He runs his fingers over his hand and takes an unintentinally sharp deep breath. It makes Malia’s head perk for a moment but she quickly looks back down at her book. Stiles tries to relax, tries to stop thinking about Theo and the stakeout two nights ago. He successfully forgot him for five years, why the hell can’t he do it now?

Lydia glances up from her papers, eyes narrowed. “Your leg’s shaking a lot.” She comments, glancing down at his left leg.

Stiles glances down as well and notices for the first time that his leg is shaking. He puts a hand on it to steady it, shooting Lydia an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he mutters. Malia glances back, face unreadable. When she swallows and looks away, Stiles continues, “I haven’t been getting much sleep.”

Lydia cocks a brow. “That’s an understatement.” Her eyes trail his body, which thinking about it now, is probably looking quite disheveled. He ended up passing out on his old couch last night, but only for a few hours, so once again he is being fueled by only black coffee and a bit of scotch. 

Stiles huffs out a slight laugh. “Probably.” He says, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. He’s forced to look back up when Malia abrupty pushing away from the counter and storms away, leaving her book behind. Stiles snaps his gaze to the floor, frowning.

Lydia sighs, setting her papers down. “Don’t worry about her,” she says, looking over at him, “She’s still adjusting to you being back. It’s just... not everyone reacted that well to you leaving.”

Stiles’ frown deepens, but he knows he doesn’t have much of a right to be upset. He expected this, this is a normal reaction. Still, though, he finds himself looking back up at her and asking, “Yeah? How did you react?”

Lydia purses her lips. “...I don’t blame you for leaving,” she crosses her legs, leans in a little bit closer, “After everything... I don’t know if I could stay here.” She pauses, looks down, “I wish you’d kept in contact.”

Stiles feels a ping of guilt in his chest. “I know... I...” he trails off, taking a breath. “I should’ve told everyone. I just- I couldn’t-“ he shakes his head, looks back at Lydia apologetically, “it was too _hard”_.

Lydia nods slowly, looking as if she’s still thinking the statement. Stiles runs his hands through his hair. After a moment Lydia thankfully changes the subject and asks, “It must be strange being back. After so long.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a word for it,” he drops his hands, tilts his head back up so he can look at her. He licks his lips. “... everything’s just so _different_ , I guess... I didn’t know it would feel so different.” He starts fiddling with his bad hand again. “I don’t know what I expected.”

Lydia nods slowly. “I guess we’ve all changed.”

“Scott’s engaged.” Stiles says, shaking his head. “It’s... just crazy to think about.” He huffs out a small laugh. “My best friend is engaged and I didn’t even know about it.” Though best friend probably isn’t the right term anymore. He broke that tie by not answering any of his calls until one day he just gave up calling. 

“If it makes you feel any better they’ve been engaged for almost a year and a half now.” Lydia says, leaning back into the couch. Stiles gives her a questioning look to which she explains, “They haven’t really found the time to start planning a wedding. I don’t know when they’ll have it now, the date keeps getting pushed back further and further.” She sighs, running two fingers over her temple, “Seems ridiculous to worry about something like a wedding in the middle of researching a monster that’s been putting people in comas.”

Stiles snorts. He shakes his head, saying, “Scott hasn’t changed.” His lips curl into a slight, fond smile, “Still cares more about everybody else than himself. I can’t believe he just... hugged me. Like he didn’t care I’d ever left.”

Lydia frowns. “He’s had a lot of time to think it over, make his peace with it. But at first... he took it pretty hard. A lot of us did.” 

Stiles clenches his jaw. The feeling of guilt is returning now like an old friend. He comtinues to run his fingers over his scars, staring intensely at the floor. He takes in a breath and finally asks in a small voice, “...Theo?”

He doesn’t look up to see Lydia’s reaction but he knows it’s still in a frown. “He took it... hard.” She pauses, like she’s considering her words very carefully. She seems to give up on that and just says, “He was a mess after you left for a long time. It took him a while to figure things out, get a job, an apartment. With you being back, he’s... he just missed you a lot.”

Stiles’ chest hurts, and he can’t look up. His mind drifts back to the voicemails Theo mentioned yesterday. He’d called him so many times, and Stiles just ignored him. He _missed_ him. 

“You’ve talked to him, right?” Lydia asks. Stiles nods. “How did that go?”

“Well, he pretty much hates me, so...” he runs his hands through his hair again, their previous conversation non-stop running through his head. 

Lydia’s lips purse again. “He doesn’t...” she starts over, “He doesn’t hate you. None of us hate you.” Stiles nods slightly, but he can’t believe that. How could they not hate him? He deserves to be hated. 

“Hey,” Lydia says softly, standing. She takes a seat next to him and rests a gentle hand on his arm. He looks up at last. For some reason her sympathetic look makes him think back to when she first visited him in the hospital after everything. She hadn’t been there when his dad, Scott, Malia, and Parrish rescued them, so by that point she’d only heard the story and not seem his state. The moment she walked in she had started crying. Stiles couldn’t blame her; he was a wreck, it was probably a shock to see him in such a bad state; but it still made him feel uncomfortable none the less. He didn’t want to be the one who made Lydia cry like that, not ever. Despite the crush he had once upon a time fading with time he’ll always love Lydia.

Lydia continues, “It’s not your fault, okay? After what happened,” Stiles holds back a wince at the mention, “we all know it was difficult on you. I’m sure leaving felt like your only option. All that matters is that you’re back now to help your dad.” She runs her fingers over his arm. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Stiles smiles weakly. “Thanks.” He says, with as much genuineness as he can muster. He reaches with his good hand and squeezes Lydia’s that is still on his arm. She smiles back.

Stiles releases her hand and glances back at the floor. Lydia gives him one last smile before giving his arm one more rub and shifts away. 

“And really, don’t worry about everyone else.” She adds after a beat of silence. “They’ll come around. Even if it doesn’t seem like it now.”

Stiles snorts. “I seriously doubt that.” He says. He’s lucky _anyone_ is okay with him being here, he’s not going to let himself believe that he has a chance of getting into everyone’s good graces. Why does he even care so much anyways? _He’s_ the one who left without telling anybody. He didn’t care what they thought then, he just left as quickly as he could manage. 

He thinks Lydia might be about to say something else when the sound of the front door opening fills the house. He thinks it may be Malia returning from wherever she stormed off to but he realizes he’s wrong when Theo walks into the living room a moment later.

Stiles tenses, grip tightening on the book in his lap. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Lydia raise her brows, but he’s mostly focused on Theo standing in front of him.

His face is unreadable, but thankfully doesn’t seem angry. After their- whatever that was the other night, he dropped Stiles back off at Scott’s place to retrieve the rental car without a single word. Not like Stiles had the guts to say anything either, though. 

“Hey.” Theo says quietly, suprisingly subdued and almost bashful, which is probably a red flag. He stuffs his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and locks eyes with Stiles. “Can we talk?” he glances at Lydia and adds, “Alone?”

Stiles swallows but nods. He stands and follows Theo into the front room with one last glance at Lydia. As soon as they’re alone Theo turns to him, eyes not quite reaching his eyes. Stiles clasps his hands together and shifts uncomfortably, waiting. He half expects Theo to continue their last conversation, but judging from his clear discomfort it doesn’t seem likely.

When Theo finally speaks he looks up and says, “I’m sorry about the other night, okay?” Stiles’ eyebrows raise in surprise. It’s not like Theo hadn’t changed a lot while and after they were held captive, because he did and Stiles saw a much kinder side of him than he’d previously known. But apologizing, especially like _this_ , isn’t really something Stiles has seen him do. He hardly allowed himself to seem so vulnerable, so this is... new. And slightly terrifying.

Theo sighs and continues, “You were right. We’re going to have to be dealing with eachother for a while, so we shouldn’t be thinking about...” he seems to search for the correct words before he finally concludes, “We should forget about the past. Just get along until we find a way to fix your dad.”

Stiles’ eyes are probably really wide, but he’s not even sure why. This is exactly what he wanted... it _is_. So why is he feeling like this? He tries to hide it, and if Theo notices he doesn’t say anything. “Okay, yeah.” His eyes search Theo momentarily before he decides to look away. He’s honestly just glad he doesn’t have to talk about their argument the other night.

Theo visibly untenses. “Okay.” He says, barely hiding his relief. Stiles isn’t sure how he should feel about it; well, he doesn’t know how to feel about _any_ of this, so the feeling’s nothing new.

Theo takes his hands out of his pocket, asking, “Have you guys figured out what this Thing is yet?” He asks, sounding more casual, less umcomfortable. It’s a welcome change.

“Not yet, we’re still trying to figure it out.” Stiles answers, more than happy to focus on research than their relationship or even his whirling stomach that he can’t find the exact cause of. 

Theo nods, gaze turning back to the living room. “I can try to help. Read through some research.”

Stiles nods in agreement. Theo gives him one last look, this one way more pleasant than they have been since he’s seen him again, before walking into the living room. Stiles takes a deep breath as soon as he’s gone, not realizing how badly he needed one. The swirling in his stomach has shifted slightly, and now it almost feels like butterflies. Stiles swallows thickly, scratching the back of his neck.

 

_They ended up not running off to live on a beach._

_Not exactly a surprise there. It was a fantasy. Stiles has a lot of physical therapy to go through, and that requires him staying in Beacon Hills. And besides, not like his dad would ever let him run away with Theo, he hardly even tolerates his existence as it is. Still, it was a nice dream while it lasted, made his hospital stay a little more bearable._

_Still, coming home is nice, especially since it means he gets to leave said hospital. The house is almost exactly the same, but it feels different somehow. He chalks it up to time away. It has been months, afterall. He honestly never thought he’d make it back here. The entire process of getting home feels pretty surreal, in fact, and he’s still half expecting to wake up and for it all to be a dream._

_However, it becomes pretty clear that this is real as he makes it upstairs, Theo trailing behind him, into his bedroom. Luckily he’s been promoted to crutches instead of that stupid wheelchair, so he can at least get around now with minimal help (though he still needs some help, which is beyond annoying)._

_Theo opens the bedroom door for him and Stiles is instantly assaulted by a million memories. It’s almost too much, suddenly, and he has to stop in his tracks to catch his breath. The thought of this moment has felt like the goal to reach for so long, being back home, being safe. It was the wild fantasy that has kept him going, somehow feeling even less plausible than their beach plan. But he actually made it. He lived to see the day. And it’s overwhelming._

_“Do you need me to help you?” Theo asks, taking a small step towards him, hands moving like they’re about to assist him into the room._

_“No, no, I’m good,” Stiles says, trying to push down his feelings. He moves into the room at last, looking around, taking in every detail. It’s not the way he left it, he knows instantly. Things are out of place, probably because of police searching his room for evidence, clues to where he might’ve gone before they discovered he’d been kidnapped. Stiles expected as much. Despite that, though, it’s still his room. He never thought he’d be so happy to see a bedroom._

_Stiles takes a seat on the edge of the bed, not able to hold in the wince as he does. But as soon as he’s sitting, the pain seems to just melt away. “Oh my god,” Stiles practically moans, allowing himself to sink into the soft cushion of his mattress. Christ, was it always this soft? Stiles leans his crutches against the side of the bed and lays down against the pillows. “Jesus,” he says, closing his eyes, “I forgot what an actual bed felt like.”_

_The room is silent for a moment before Stiles pops one eye open to see Theo just standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pocket. Stiles rolls his eyes, huffing, “Get over here, dope.”_

_Theo smirks and steps over. He kicks off his shoes as he lies down next to him, wrapping his arms around his middle. Stiles sighs in peace, resting his head back against the pillow and looking over Theo’s face. He looks content as well. But he’s still smirking._

_“Can’t believe I’m in Stiles Stilinski’s bed.” Theo says teasingly, poking his side. Lightly, of course, but somehow it still hits a bruise. Stiles is able to hold back his wince this time._

_“Shut up.” Stiles says, rolling his eyes again. Though he’s guessing it’s less than a joke. Theo told him about his crush when he came back; though crush doesn’t seem like the right word, not with Theo. He probably did dream about ending up in his bed at some point. But so much has changed since then._

_Theo chuckles and runs his hand through Stiles’ hair, pushing it back from his forehead, still smiling. “Your hair’s so long,” he murmurs, moving his hand down to Stiles’ thigh to run his fingers lightly over it, “Don’t worry, though, it’s cute.”_

_Stiles makes a face. “Yeah, so’s yours.” He says back, looking over Theo’s curly, overgrown hair. He yawns, burying his head further into the pillow. The medication they have him on makes him exhausted, like, all the time, so even the short walk from the car to here is pretty much enough to knock him out for the day. “These fucking meds are making me so tired.” He mutters unhappily. He’d like to enjoy this moment for at least a few more minutes before knocking out. He’s spent way too much time unconcious._

_Theo looks his face over. “We can sleep for a while.” He says with that surprising amount of positivity he’s had lately, that Stiles is sure is just for his benefit. If he knows one thing about Theo is that he’s definitely not an optimist._

_Theo looks like he’s about to lean in but before he gets the chance he’s interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. Stiles’ head shoots up, body tensing before he realizes it’s just his dad. Though it doesn’t make him relieved. He shifts out of Theo’s arms, sitting up with a bit of strain in his rush. Still, his dad spares a pointed glance at Theo._

_Things are still tense. It’s pretty clear his dad still doesn’t like Theo. In fact, no one does. And the feelings pretty mutual on Theo’s end. It’s a hard shift, having to feel uncomfortable about openly being with Theo suddenly when it’s all he’s known for months. It’s not like they were in the middle of having sex or anything, yet it still feels like his dad has caught him in the act somehow. It always feels that way, with everyone. It was so long with only the two of them, with Theo being the only person in his life. It’s like two worlds colliding in a way. And they don’t mesh well. Not at all._

__

_Stiles rubs the back of his neck, looking at his dad. His dad swallows, eyes fixed on Theo for a few more long, agonizing moments before he finally turns to Stiles. He puts on a smile that only looks half-way forced. “How you doing, kiddo? Happy to be back in your own bed?”_

__

_Stiles drops his hand. “Yeah,” he says, giving him a weak smile back. He glances at Theo, who’s still just lying next to him, looking uncaring at his dad’s radiating hatred. That’s pretty much been Theo’s go-to whenever he gets dirty looks thrown at him, and Stiles appreciates it more than he can express. The last thing he needs is any of them openly fighting, he’s barely coping with the tense, silent exchanges._

__

_When he looks back at his dad, he’s looking at Theo too. “Theo,” he says, voice forcibly steady, “There are a few bags in the car, mind getting them? Give me a second alone with my son?”_

__

_Theo pauses, and for a second it looks like he’s about to argue, but he turns to look at Stiles, smirks, and says a casual, “Sure.” He squeezes Stiles’ hand briefly and gives him a gentle look before getting to his feet and leaving the room past his dad._

__

_His dad waits a second, as if making sure Theo is out of hearing range before he steps further into the room with a serious look on his face. He also looks uncomfortable, like he’s not sure what to say. “Have much trouble getting up here with your crutches?” He decides to ask._

_Stiles cocks his head to the side. “What’s wrong, dad?” He asks wearily. He already knows the answer he’s about to get and he’s been dreading it since the first day Theo showed up in the hospital._

_His dad sighs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He looks at Stiles intensely and says, “You know how happy I am that you’re back with me, right?” He starts. Stiles nods slightly, working hand unconsciously running over his bad one. His dad puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “I missed you more than you can imagine, kid, and I’d do anything to protect you.” He takes his hand off, continues, “And I know Theo-“ Stiles looks down and huffs, expecting this to be where the conversation was going, “-and you... have been close. But I think it’s time that he gave you a little bit of space.”_

_”Dad-“ Stiles starts, but his dad raises a hand to stop him._

_“Just listen to me.” His dad interupts softly, still that intense look on his face. Stiles sighs, but lets him continue, “Even though you’re home, you’re still recovering. I was fine with Theo staying in the hospital with you-“ that’s a lie, “-but I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to stay here while you’re getting better. He can still come to visit whenever you want-“_

_Stiles huffs, interrupting, “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, dad. He was living in his car before all of this, I’m not just gonna kick him out.” He tries to hide the bit of hurt that’s threatening to leak into his voice. It was sort of an unspoken thing that Theo would just stay here, he didn’t even think to ask his dad (probably fearing he’d actually say no, which he’s just doing anyways.)_

_His dad nods, saying calmly, “I don’t mind putting him up in a motel for a while, until he figures it out.”_

_“Dad,” Stiles says, slightly more desperate and now his growing anger leaking into his voice, “He can’t just- Why can’t he just stay here?” He sounds more and more like a child whining and it only makes him angrier._

_His dad doesn’t lose his calm. “I know you got close with him,” he repeats, not sounding very pleased at the thought as he rubs a hand over his forehead, “but Stiles, you two... you’re too codependent.” Stiles’ eyes widen as he continues, “It’s not healthy for you to be together 24/7. I talked to Melissa and your doctor, and they both think it’s time for some space. So you can to try to adjust to normal life again.” He looks pained to say all of this as reaches over and gently squeezes Stiles’ hand._

_Stiles pulls his hand away. “We’re not-“ he pauses, considering the word. Codependent? Maybe it’s not entirely off base. But adjusting to normal life? Theo is his normal. He feels sick at the thought of not having him around. He swallows, says, “It’s not unhealthy, okay, you can’t just seperate us.”_

_“Stiles-“_

_“Dad, please,” he starts, increasingly more desperate, “I need him here.” He can feel tears prick the corner of his vision, threatening to spill. But his voice is still laced with anger, hot, uncontrollable, visceral anger. “It’s not like you can stay here with me all the time, he can, okay, I need him.”_

_His dad frowns. “You don’t need to worry about that, I’ll stay home with you as long as I need to.”_

_Stiles lets out a frustrated noise. “I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want anyone to put their lives on hold for me.” He runs his hands through his hair, and all he wants to do is rip it out. Why is all of this so hard for anyone to understand? That he doesn’t want to be treated like a wounded fucking animal? Theo’s the only one who doesn’t treat him like that and now his dad wants to rip the only person who understands away. Stiles takes in a sharp breath._

_His dad looks increasingly distressed. He seems not to know what to say, but he still speaks, “Stiles,” he says concernedly, “No one sees it like that. I just want to help you...” his frown deepens, as he searches for what to say. “Even if I did go back to work, you’d be okay. You just need to recover-“_

_“I can hardly fucking walk!” He snaps, looking up. He swallows, regretting it instantly when he sees his dad’s hurt face. He looks down again, taking in a way too short breath. All he can think about suddenly is the last few days of captivity, when they took Theo away away for a days. All he can think about is the feeling of not knowing if he would ever come back, thinking they’d killed him, being completely and utterly alone. And now it’s going to happen again, Theo is going to get taken away from him and he’s going to be alone again and he just can’t- The tears are spilling now and he recognizes that he’s having a panic attack, but it all feels distant. Unreal._

_He’s pulled back to reality when his dad pulls his close to his chest, wrapping his arms tight around his middle. “Shh, hey, it’s okay,” his dad says in a comforting tone, rubbing his back and nearly crushing him in his grip. Stiles can’t bring himself to care. He buries his head into his dad’s chest, breaths coming out in sobs. “He can stay, okay? He can stay if that’s what you want.” He promises in hushed tones. “You’re okay. Take a deep breath.”_

_Stiles focuses on breathing, and does manage to calm down a bit, though he can’t make the tears stop flowing. “It’s the meds,” he mutters, still breathless, “They m-make me emotional... One of the s-side effects.” He takes a deep breath. Tries to convince himself that’s what’s actually happening here._

_His dad doesn’t let up on his grip, still rubbing his back. “I know, kiddo.” He says. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and leans further againt his chest._

 

Stiles’ childhood hime is dark, only moonlight drifting in through the living room window. Stiles taps the side of his beer bottle, staring at his cellphone sitting on the coffee table. He takes a breath. Then another. Then he huffs, taking another sip of his slowly draining bottle. He stands, pacing the room.

He’s been staring at his phone for hours now. After he, Lydia and Theo’s researching session, which, oddly enough, was significantly less tense than it should’ve been, he came back to his old house to sleep on the sofa again. But there was something he couldn’t get out of his head; what Theo said yesterday about his voicemails.

He’s honestly forgotten about them once they stopped coming in. He made himself forget _everything_. But now they’re all he can think about. 

He has to hear them. He knows it won’t exactly be pleasant by any stretch, they’ll probably end up making him feel about a million times worse, but he also knows that he needs to do it. Theo deserves that much, right? And Stiles needs, on a level he can’t quite comprehend, to hear what they say.

Only problem; Stiles can’t seem to make himself pick up the damn phone.

He takes another sip of beer as he glares down at the stupid thing. It’s just a fucking phone. It won’t hurt him. “Christ,” he mutters to himself, pressing the cold bottle to his forehead. _Just fucking do it_ he scolds himself. 

He works up the nerve when he finally finishes his beer. He sets the bottle down and picks up the phone. He opens it and scrolls through his messages until he reaches Theo’s. There are dozens, spanning from the day he left to a couple months later. Stiles swallows thickly, guilt flooding his stomach. He reaches the first voicemail, dated the exact day he left for the airport, and stares at it momentarily. He takes a deep breath before he presses play. 

“ _Stiles,_ ” the message begins, Theo’s voice recognizable instantly. “ _Hey. I stopped by your place earlier, I guess you’re out with your dad._ ” There’s a pause, before he continues, “ _I really wanna talk. I’m sure you’re still upset... just, I’ll talk to you when you get home, I’m waiting outside_.”

Stiles takes in a shaky breath as the message ends. He scrolls up and clicks the next one, a day later. “ _Stiles, jesus, where are you? Have you gotten any of my texts?_ ” His voice sounds more worried now, and Stiles’ heart clenches, “ _Listen, I’m starting to worry about you. Call me, okay? Please?_ ”

Next message. “ _Please, please call me. You’re dad told me you left, just-_ ” he lets out a frustrated noise, “ _Stiles, I need to talk to you, okay, I need to hear your voice. Call me._ ”

Stiles skips ahead, to a few weeks later, passing quite a few other messages in the process. The message starts with a slight pause, before he starts, “ _Hey. It’s me again_ ,” his voice isn’t concerned anymore, it’s almost defeated, “ _... You don’t want to hear from me right now, I get it. I stopped by your place again today. I know you’re not.. coming back yet. I’ll be here when you do. You know that._ ” Another long pause, “ _I miss you._ ”

After that they’re all similar, the same defeated sentiment. The same broken voice. Stiles stares at the phone. His face is getting red, he can tell. His throat feels stuffed with cotton. Still, he continues on.

He finds the final message Theo ever left him, almost 4 years ago. As soon as it begins, it’s different than he others. It begins with heavy breathing. When he finally starts talking, his words are slurred, “ _Stillles,_ ” he sounds almost drunk, which is entirely possible since while werewolves can’t get drunk, chimeras certainly can. “ _I’m pretty sure you’re not going to listen to this... I’m pretty sure you ‘aven’t listened to any of these,_ ” he lets out a delirious laugh, “ _I know you’re not coming back, and - and..._ ” there’s a distant noise coming from the line that Stiles is sure is Theo crying, “ _And I’m sorry. For whatever I did to make you leave me. Ya know, it’s kinda funny. Everyone who’s left me, I knew why. And I didn’t care. But with you_...” a sharp breath, “ _Jesus, Stiles, you fucked me up. I miss you more than anything. I don’t know if I can do this without you... I love you._ ” Stiles covers his mouth with his hand, listening to the final few words, “ _... I’ll stop... this is probably a waste of time anyways. I’ll just... stop. I’m sorry._ ” and just like that, the line goes dead.

Stiles drops the phone. He clenches his jaw shut and stares blankly ahead. He tries to process everything he’s just heard, but it makes him feel sick to his stomach. He stands abruptly, walking over to the kitchen. He grabs another beer from the fridge and chugs it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, really really hope you’re all still enjoying. I’m super excited about this story and have an entire plan to continue, so please let me know if you like it! Any and all comments are SUPER appreciated!! Let me know what you think will happen next, what you want to happen next, what you like in his chaper/ what you’re curious about, or anything else :) thanks for reading!


	6. Broken Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I don’t even want to discuss how long this chapter took to get out, I’m just grateful that it’s finally here. I had so much trouble with this one for some reason, because I had such a detailed idea of how I wanted it to go, but wasn’t able to translate it completely. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. I’m honestly working really hard with this one and I have a whole plan on how this will end, I’m super excited. But please, PLEASE leave a comment if you want me to continue. I truly thrive with constructive/inquisitive/ insightful comments, you can even just tell me what you’re enjoying so far and it will honestly make my day. So please leave one!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_”Pancakes or waffles?”_

 

The thing about being on good terms with Theo, after everything, is that Stiles can’t just force himself to forget anymore. And it’s hard to deny what they once were.

 

_”Waffles.” Theo answers, staring up at the ceiling. Stiles can see his face only from the corner of his eye from where he lay on their sheet next to him. “Star Wars or Marvel?”_

_“Incomparable.” Stiles says back, turning his head back to stare at their cell’s ceiling as well. Theo’s running his hand through his hair again. It’s weird, only a few weeks ago he’d probably be disgusted at the meer idea of Theo touching him, but it just kind of started one day and Stiles hasn’t felt the need to put a stop to it. It actually feels... kind of nice. Compared to the constant pain he’s in, it’s a nice change of pace, at least. Which Stiles will never actually admit if they ever get out of here, but he’ll take the comfort of another person where he can get it. “Cats or dogs?” He asks, before narrowing his eyes and asking, “Or is that too obvious?”_

_”No, I like cats better.” Theo answers, and when Stiles shoots him a surprised look he explains, “They’re self sufficient.” Stiles shrugs in agreement, as Theo asks, “LA or New York?”_

_Stiles purses his lips. “LA. New York is overrated.”_

_Theo hums. “I’ve never been. Dread doctors were never really ones for vacation.”_

_Stiles frowns, goes back to staring up. Theo’s fingers continue to massage his scalp for a few silent moments. Stiles has found that the silence between them can be comfortable. It’s not like the silence of being alone in here when Theo’s taken away, that silence is agonizing. Still, he never pictured anything to be remotely comfortable with Theo and now he’s letting him basically pet his head while they lay together. This place is bringing out a whole new tolerating side of him. There’s so much terror he has to deal with now that simple moments like this are like a blessing. Sometimes it makes him question why he even hated Theo in the first place._

_It becomes clear again when out of the blue Theo decides to ask, “Do you spit or swallow?”_

_“Theo,” Stiles says indignantly, shifting away from him to sit up, disgust filling his face along with heat filling his cheeks. He pulls weird at an injury but tries to ignore the stinging pain. Theo remains laying down, and shoots him an innocent look. Oh, that’s right, he forgot; Theo’s a huge dick. Stiles scoffs, saying, “Gross.”_

_Theo puts his hands up in mock innocence, though the smirk on his face seems anything but. “It’s just a question. You’ve never struck me as a prude.”_

_Stiles narrows his eyes, leaning his body against the wall. “You are just about the last person on earth I want to discuss my sex life with.”_

_Theo chuckes, putting his hands down. “Who else are you going to discuss it with?” He gestures around the empty room. He then sits up a bit, and looks Stiles’ over for a moment. Stiles continues to glare at him until Theo cocks a brow and asks, “Are you a virgin?”_

_Stiles scoffs, turning away. Theo’s smirk gets impossibly wider. “You are?” He presses._

_Stiles takes the bait. He turns back, saying a bit too defensively, “I was with Malia, remember?”_

_Stiles thinks Theo is sated with that answer, but fucking of course he’s not done yet as he tilts his head and asks knowingly, “What about with a guy?”_

_Stiles can feel his cheeks turn a deeper shade of red. “We are not having this conversation.” He says dismissively, turning his gaze pointedly away from Theo. Despite it, he can literally feel Theo’s amused, stupid face. It’s not as if sleeping with a guy is exactly a new concept for him. He’s thought about it, an oppurtunity just never presented itself. It’s not something he’s ever discussed however, certainly not with Theo; and he doesn’t plan to do it now._

_“Never, huh?” Theo says, then shrugs, “That’s not a big deal. We have time.”_

_The statement forces Stiles to stop ignoring Theo. He turns to him with a bewildered expression as he repeats, “I’m sorry, we?” Theo looks at him and simply nods, so Stiles shoots him a look and asks, “Are you fucking insane? What makes you think I would ever have sex with you?”_

_Theo doesn’t lose his cocky expression. “You know I can smell your emotions, right? That includes lust,” Stiles’ eyes widen, “All those times when you said you hated me, when you didn’t trust me, I could smell it on you a mile away. Even when you were with Malia.” Stiles’ mouth falls open slightly, “So don’t tell me the thought’s ever crossed your mind.”_

_“I-“ Stiles starts, but the words get caught in his throat. He hates that he can’t deny it; at least not honestly, and Theo would definitely point out the faulter in his heartbeat, the asshole. It’s not like he’s ever thought of Theo in a romantic way, never that, it was always only sexual, and even then it was deeply, deeply repressed. Theo’s objectively attractive, and beyond frustrating, and that’s just a recipe for disaster. Stiles never planned on acting on any of these fleeting thoughts, however. At least, not until now. “Shut up,” he attempts futilely, resenting his blush giving him away._

_Theo chuckles again, irritatingly amused at all of this. “You’re cute when you blush.” He says, which makes Stiles’ eyes widen again. Theo licks his lips, continuing, “You know it’s okay to want things. To want me.”_

_Stiles has to shoot him a glare for that. “I do not want you.” He stresses._

_Theo continues to grin back at him. “You think I’m attractive.”_

_Stiles opens his mouth to argue, but closes it again, switching strategies and admitting, “That means nothing, okay?” He grits his teeth, glancing at Theo next to him, “Why do you even care, by the way? Or are you just trying to be an asshole?”_

_Theo seems to consider him for a moment. “You already know how I feel about you, Stiles.” He says like it’s obvious; which it kind of is, granted. Theo’s made it pretty clear exactly how he feels since they’ve been here. Doesn’t make it easier to process. Stiles shoots him a suspicious look, so Theo explains, “I’ve always liked you. In every way,” the way he glances down at Stiles’ lips absolutely isn’t fair, but he continues, “I care. You know that.”_

_Stiles huffs out a frustrated breath. “I know that’s what you keep saying.” He points out, looking over Theo scrutinizingly. It’s not like he’s being paranoid. Theo is a compulisive liar, he will say anything to get his way. How could Stiles believe that any of this is true? Not that he’s actually about to entertain the possibility of this. Not at all. Just because Theo’s been surprisingly caring while they’ve been here, and Stiles has been a little caring back, does not mean Theo is suddenly reformed._

_Theo sighs loudly. “You really just don’t know, do you?” He says in response to Stiles’ judgmental expression, looking him dead in the eyes, “Are you really having this much trouble with the fact that somebody could want you? Or is it just that it’s me?” He leans forward slightly, saying intensely, “Because I think you’re amazing, Stiles. In every single way. I’ve always thought that.”_

_Stiles is a bit thrown back by Theo’s sudden passion, and it makes him feel strange. Still, he argues, “How am I supposed to believe any of that? How do I know you’re not just saying that to-“_

_His words are cut off when Theo surges forward and crashes his lips against his. His eyes widen, but Theo doesn’t pull away. And neither does Stiles._

_In fact, he shuts his eyes and leans in a bit closer. He still doesn’t know why, exactly. Maybe it’s the way Theo’s hand reaches up to run his fingers through the hair on the back of his head, simultaneously deepening the kiss and pulling them closer together._

_When Theo finally pulls away all Stiles can do is blink dumbly at him. Theo’s lips are glazed and he looks slightly less cocky than normal. He looks hesitant; almost like he’s waiting for Stiles’ reaction. Well, if he expects Stiles to be able to process any of what just happened anytime soon, he’s sorely mistaken._

_So Stiles doesn’t really give him a reaction, he just stares at him for a moment then lies back down, stares up at the ceiling instead. He really doesn’t feel like opening this can of worms right now. He wishes desperately he just pushed him away; wished he didn’t enjoy it... But it was nice. Really nice. They’ve been here for what seems like forever, enduring constant physical and psychological torment, it only makes sense that it felt good. Right? Because it’s Theo. Jesus, it’s Theo._

_Theo seems to get the gist, as he smirks slightly to himself and goes back to resting his head against his arm. They lay in silence for a few long moments. Stiles glances over, and sighs. When he looks back to the ceiling he says, “If we get out of here,” Theo turns his head to look at him, as Stiles continues hesitantly, “If,” he stresses, “Then... maybe.”_

_Theo’s grin widens. “That sounds like a promise.”_

_Stiles narrows his eyes. “It’s a maybe.”_

_Theo shifts, getting closer. “Maybe’s fine by me.”_

 

“Jesus.” Stiles says, looking over the side of Theo’s truck. It’s hard to miss the gigantic gash right through the back door, splintered metal and all. He glances back towards the woods, tries to see if that Thing is still out there. It seems to have disapeared for now, but that doesn’t exactly make Stiles feel comforted, especially not after seeing what it’s capable.

He turns to look at Theo, who’s standing next to him, hands in his pockets, looking over the damage as well. If Stiles had to place an emotion on him it would be worry; which, by the way, is very unsettling coming from Theo. Stiles always thought of him as fearless. But that could’ve just been an act, something he refused to show. Besides, that all was... before. 

To say being around Theo again is strange would be a massive understatement. Things are still beyond tense between them, but luckily they can be in the same space without discussing anything that happened. Doesn’t make it anymore comfortable, but it’s at least manageable. Too bad being on watch together again led to the Thing returning, this time a little too close for comfort. 

“We should tell Scott.” Stiles says, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing back to him. 

Theo considers for a moment before nodding. “I’ll text him.” He says, pulling out his phone. And that’s more than strange, that’s almost unbelievable. The last time he saw Theo and Scott interact before he left Beacon Hills was not what he would call a pleasant time, in fact they weren’t at all secretive about the contempt they held for eachother. The fact that Theo can now so casually shoot him a text is insane. But everything else has changed, so he shouldn’t be surprised that that’s changed too.

Once Theo finishes typing he glances at Stiles then back at the side of the truck. He crosses his arms as well and puts on an unreadable expression. Stiles furrows his brows, and says, “Okay. If Scott knows, you can take me back to his place.”

“He’s not home, he’ll be out most of the night.” Theo says simply, not looking up.

Stiles stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Okay, I’ll just hang out at my dad’s house, then. We’re only a few blocks away.”

Theo doesn’t answer for a moment and Stiles tenses slightly in anticipation. Theo finally looks over and says, “Exactly.” Stiles tilts his head, “That Thing is still out here. It’s not safe to go back, especially alone.” Stiles’ eyes widen slightly, just before Theo says, “... my apartment’s not that far from here. If-“ he looks away again, obviously not sure what to say. He sighs, finishes, “If no one else is around, then you’d probably be safest with me. For the night, at least.”

Stiles stares at him blankly for a moment, trying to process what he just suggested. “You- you don’t mind?” He decides on dumbly, brows still curled forward. 

Theo only shrugs. He swallows and explains, “I just... I don’t feel good about you being alone tonight.” He quickly adds, “Not with that Thing around.”

It takes Stiles another moment, too mant thoughts flying through his head, before he agrees, “Uh, okay,” still not quite able to process what Theo just said and what he agreed to. Theo looks him over once, before turning and nodding, walking back over to the drivers side of his car. Stiles is still for just a second too long before moving into action, walking around to the passangers seat.

 

Theo’s apartment was pretty close, as it turns out. He lives above a coffee shop, actually, a small space with two matching apartments. Stiles follows him through a narrow hallway as they reach a wooden door tucked away in a poorly lit corner. Theo stops to fish his keys out of the pocket of his jeans. 

When they step insides Stiles takes note of his surroundings quickly. The place is fairly small, and surprisingly empty. All there is is a couch, small TV, a small table hidden away in one of the corners, and a kitchen mostly covered by a wall. Besides all that, though, it’s just... empty. No decorations, no pictures, no nicknacks. Stiles shouldn’t even be surprised. Theo never was very sentimental, makes sense that that hasn’t changed. Still, it does leave Stiles with a strange feeling.

Theo drops his keys onto the stand with the TV and turns to look at Stiles as he closes the door behind them. “Do you, uh,” he starts, stuffing his hands into the pockets, “Do you want anything? Water, food?”

Stiles quickly shakes his head. “No, no, I’m good. Thanks.” He reaches up and scratches the back of his head.

Theo nods slowly, glancing at the sofa. He looks like he’s trying to work something out in his head. Finally, he turns to Stiles. “I, um, I only have the pull out,” he gestures to the couch, “You can take it, I’ll take the floor.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. “No, no, I’ll sleep on the floor, I don’t want to to take your bed-“

“Stiles, really, it’s fine. You take it-“

“No.” Stiles says resolutely, “I’m not letting you sleep on your own floor. I’m not taking your bed, it’s _fine_.” He stresses the last word.

Theo stares at him for a moment, before crossing his arms and scoffing. “Well, I’m sleeping on the floor, so you might as well take the pull out.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Well I’m sleeping on the floor, too, so...” he crosses his arms as well to match Theo’s stance. 

Theo tilts his head. “So you want us both to sleep on the floor?” He asks. Stiles stubbornly nods. Theo’s gaze doesn’t leave his for what feels like a long time before he finally shakes his head, small smile forming over his lips. Stiles hates the way it makes his heart skip a beat. “Fine,” Theo says, either not noticing Stiles’ change in heartbeat or just not addressing it. He walks over to his couch and begins to take the cushions off, continuing, “we’ll _both_ take the pull out.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raise and he uncrosses his arms. Theo glances at him tentatively, as if waiting for approval. Stiles swallows thickly, and mutters, “Fine.”

When Theo starts to unfold the pullout, Stiles walks over to help him, all while contemplating what he just agreed to. Staying the night in Theo’s apartment is one thing, staying the night with Theo in his _bed, together_ , is something else entirely. The last time they shared a bed was when they were together, they used to sleep together every night. Stiles literally can’t imagine sharing a bed with Theo and not touching him, not sleeping literally as close as two people could possibly sleep.

 

_“Is this okay?”_

_Stiles nods, looking up at Theo with slightly wide eyes when he hovers over him after pulling his lips off his neck. Stiles shifts where he lay on the bed, Theo on top of him, shirt already pulled off and thrown to the floor. “Yeah, this is good.” Stiles tries to assure him, shifting slightly._

_Theo chuckles before leaning down and planting a soft kiss on Stiles’ lips. When he pulls away he says, “You seem nervous.”_

_“I’m not nervous,” he says a bit too defensively. He’s far too used to hearing that statement by now, he can’t help but get slightly annoyed. He’s always been a nervous person, it hasn’t been heightened since- Stiles shifts again, trying to forget about_ that _for right now because it definitely won’t help him get in the mood. “I’m not more nervous than usual, okay?” He corrects after a moment._

_Theo shoots him a skeptical look. Stiles hates how well he can sense his bullshit. “I’m just worried my dad will come home.” Stiles admits, glancing back at the ajar door. It’s not a lie by any stretch, it’s a very high possibility that his dad will stop home to check on him, he did just start going to work again, afterall. And he really doesn’t need there to be any more animosity between him and Theo when it seems Theo’s mere existence is enough to make his dad despise him. Catching them doing this? That cannot possibly end well._

_Theo leans back, moves so he’s sitting back and not kneeling above him. His fingers run up the sides of Stiles’ legs as he offers, “We don’t have to do this tonight.”_

_“No.” Stiles says quickly. They’ve been planning this since they got back to the house, making good on that promise he made Theo a while ago, they even planned out the exact night that his dad would be out; which is so rare now, by the way, they never get any privacy anymore. They tried to make it as romantic as they could in their limited supplies, played some music playlist they found online, lit an old candle that was tucked away in one of his drawers. And it’s not like Stiles doesn’t want this; he does. Theo’s surprisingly someone really special to him, and this is the logical next step in their relationship that Stiles knows he’s ready for. He just needs to shake whatever weird performance anxiety he’s feeling right now. He wants to do something normal teenagers do and forget that he’s anything but a normal teenager for a little while._

_Stiles sits up and uses his good hand to shyly run his fingers over Theo’s shoulder, saying, “I want to do this, okay? I’m fine, really.” He rubs his thumb over the skin on Theo’s shoulder. When Theo reaches his hand up to hold Stiles’, he adds, “You know, I honestly didn’t expect you to be this considerate in bed,” Theo huffs out a laugh, “Are you like this with everyone you sleep with?”_

_Theo leans back down and kisses him deeply. “You’re just special.” He whispers so close that Stiles still feel his breath on his lips. Stiles can’t help but shiver. This time he’s the one who presses their lips together, resting a hand in Theo’s shaggy hair. He closes his eyes and tries to convince his body to just relax; this is something they’ve been waiting for forever; for once he’s not gonna let his nerves ruin something._

_He’s doing a pretty respectable job at just that, until he feels Theo’s hands sliding up both his sides and into his sweatshirt. Stiles tenses, feels himself reaching for Theo’s hands before he even knows what he’s doing. Theo pulls away again, brows furrowing slightly. “Y’know,” he pulls his hands away and places them at either sides of Stiles’ shoulders, “People usually do this without their clothes.”_

_Stiles shifts uncomfortably, letting out a short breath. “I know, I just-“ he grimaces up at him, hoping he understands what he’s getting at._

_Theo does. He reaches up to stroke Stiles’ cheek. “You don’t have to be self concious. Not with me.” He sighs, runs his hands through his hair, “We’ve seen each other at our worst. Literally. I won’t judge.” He glances at Stiles’ sleeve covered arm._

_Stiles can’t help but rub his good hand over his arm. He knows everything Theo just said is absolutely true; he does, logically. His arm wouldn’t even be visible without his shirt, it’s completely wrapped in bandages. But knowing it’s out, that he might accidently glance down and actually see it... “I just-“ he huffs out a frustrated breath, “I know all that, I just- I can’t get into the mood if I’m thinking about it.” He says it like it’s the only thing holding him back from getting into the ‘mood’ right now._

_Theo runs his fingers through his hair again. “It’s okay,” he says, leaning back down to kiss him on the forehead, “You can leave it on if you need to.”_

_Stiles frowns. He’s starting to feel like he’s ruining this. Like he’s making it uncomfortable for Theo as well. He’s felt like that with everything lately, like Theo’s doing fine and Stiles keeps bringing him down with his problems. “Are you sure?” He asks, voice small._

_Theo leans down and kisses him in way of answer. “Stiles, you’re overthinking again,” he says as he pulls away. “Just relax.” His hand finds Stiles’ neck and he runs a hand over it before leaning down to kiss it again._

_Stiles takes a deep breath, tries to rest his head against the pillow and closes his eyes. Just relax. That should be easy enough, right? Just relax and eventually his body will actually listen to him and get fucking excited. Stiles rests his hand in Theo’s hair._

_They go on like this for a while, obvious the entire time that Theo’s trying to ease him in slowly. Stiles is grateful for it. He almost wishes this was all there was to it. But then the kissing starts to get a little more intense, and when their bodies start grinding together, Stiles can feel Theo’s dick through his pants rub against his leg. Fully hard._

_Stiles makes a small, frustrated noise in the back of his throat as he finds himself grinding against Theo to no avail. Theo doesn’t seem to notice; well, not until his hand is slowly reaching beneath the band of his sweatpants and he encounters his completely lifeless dick._

_He can spot Theo’s slightly confused expression even though it vanishes in seconds. He doesn’t comment, just takes Stiles in his hand and rubs up and down, gently; meticulously. Stiles takes a deep breath, tries to remind his body that it really needs to get it’s shit together right now; Theo’s hand is literally on his dick, yet it can’t muster even a little enthusiasm._

_“Are-“_

_“I’m fine,” Stiles snaps before Theo even gets a chance to speak. He sits up, says a frustrated, “just- let me-“ he reaches down and pushes Theo’s hand away in favor of his own. He gives himself a few firm strokes but the act seems pointless. Stiles frowns._

_Theo tilts his head up to look at him and tries to assure, “We don’t have to do this right now-“_

_“No, I want to, I just-” he huffs, pulls his face away from Theo, “Give me a second.” And then he’s sitting up and grabbing his crutches from where they’re leaning against his bedside table._

_“Stiles-“ Theo tries as Stiles pulls himself to his feet. But Stiles ignores him, just starts walking towards the bathroom. He can hear Theo stand behind him as he closes the door, calling after him, “Stiles, it’s okay-”_

_“I just need a minute.” He snaps frustratedly. He waits a moment, but when he hears nothing else he figures Theo’s given up. It takes Stiles a second to lean himself against the sink correctly to be able to hold most of his weight and he rests his stupid crutches against the wall._

_He takes a deep breath before letting his fingers sink below his waistline again. He finds his still very soft dick and takes it firmly in his hand. He closes his eyes, tries to think of anything that might somehow remedy this, but once again he finds himself disapointed. He strokes a few more times futilely before dropping his hand. He stares down at the sink, and can’t help but think about how there’s so many things he can’t do anymore, but he never thought this would be a problem. He’d probably laugh bitterly if it didn’t make him feel so sick._

_He grips the edge of the sink with his good hand- always just with his good hand- and tries to keep his breathing steady. Theo’s probably sitting against the otherside of the door right now and might actuallt barge in if he starts having a panic attack. He accidentally spares a glance up and catches his reflection in the mirror. He stares for a moment, almost startled by how little he recognizes himself._

_His skin is still deathly pale, making all the unhealed bruises and marks all the more visible. His cheekbones are far more prominent than they should be. And his hair- he hates how long it’s gotten. Hates how greasy and scraggly it looks. Thinking it over, there’s very little he doesn’t hate about his body. About himself. He survived everything, but something inside him still feels remarkably dead._

_He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling tears build up. He grits his teeth and breaths in deeply through his nose. He can’t stop thinking about how stupid it is that he’s crying over his dick not getting hard. When he opens his eyes again they’re rimmed red and slick._

_He’s startled when he hears a gentle knock at the door. He looks over, hears Theo’s voice from the other side saying, “Stiles, it’s okay, I promise it’s not a big deal.”_

_He knows Theo means well when he says that, wants to assure him he’s not disappointed (though Stiles has some trouble believing that) but it’s far too easy for him to say. He can still get it up. He can still do plently of things, can still use both his arms, both his legs, doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares so often that it’s easier to just not sleep. He’s fine. Stiles is the only one still screwed up. He’s the only broken one._

_He lets himself sink down to the floor, doesn’t know what to say so just doesn’t say anything. How fucking stupid of him to pretend they could act like they were normal. Like they were a couple. Couples don’t have their first kiss trapped in a grimy cellar, in too much pain to move. They don’t have their first date in a hospital room. They were forced together by circumstance, that’s what they are. Maybe it’s all they can ever be._

_Stiles rests his head against his knees and squeezes his eyes shut._

 

It’s too quiet. 

The apartment is dark and far too still. All Stiles can do is stare up at the white ceiling. He wants to is glance over at Theo next to him, but he’s honestly too afraid to move. Too afraid to break the stillness first. 

Theo’s still awake too, Stiles can tell. Unsurprisingly he has a knack for knowing what Theo’s doing next to him without even looking at him. What’s surprising is that that ability hasn’t gone away. And Theo is still fairly close to him despite the considerable amount of space Stiles tried to put between them. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel eachothers movements; part of the reason why Stiles refuses to leave his uncomfortable position.

Theo’s sigh breaks the silence and it’s almost deafening. When he speaks he says, “You can move.” Once again Stiles hates how well Theo can still read him. He continues, “I’m not gonna yell at you again.” He must be referencing the night of their stakeout. 

Stiles takes a small breath of relief as he shifts onto his side. Facing Theo. Didn’t really think that one through. Theo’s halfway on his side as well, head leaning against his arm, still fully awake it seems. Stiles swallows and curls into the pillow Theo handed to him a few minutes ago, trying to avoid accidental eye contact. 

“Are you actually planning to sleep tonight?” Theo asks after a few dreadful minutes of somehow thicker silence. Stiles does look up at that, brows furrowing. Theo looks at him and explains, “You look exhausted. Have you even been sleeping since you’ve been back?”

Stiles thinks back to his sleepless nights on his old couch the last few nights. He hardly sleeps back in New York, but here it seems like his insomnia has been amplified by about a hundred. “Not really.” He catches Theo’s skeptical look, so he sighs and corrects, “Not at all.”

Theo huffs in what can almost be mistaken as fondness, but it has that familiar, slightly bitter edge to it. He seems like he wants to say something but is refraining. Stiles decides to say it for him, and comments, “Not much has changed.”

Theo’s lips curl up and a small smile, and this time there’s no bitterness at all. He chuckles softly and Stiles feels himself smiling as well. He can also feel himself relax a bit where he lay, some of the heavy tension lingering in the room finally lessening, even if just a bit. It seems like Theo feels the same. 

“At least not everything has.” Stiles adds slightly quiteter, glancing back at Theo’s darkened apartment. He swallows thickly and ventures to ask, “What are you doing now?” He shifts uncomfortably, instantly regretting asking as he tries to amend, “I mean, to afford a place. Are you in school or anything?” He scratches the back of his neck, is about to further overexplain when Theo cuts him off with an answer.

“I’m a stripper.”

Stiles’ heart sinks. “ _What_?”

Before Stiles can completely freak out Theo starts snickering to himself. “I work at a gym.” He says in a teasing voice, turning back to look at Stiles with a cheeky grin on his face.

Stiles stares at him stunned for a moment before laughing, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ,” he chuckles. He feels an unexpected, warm feeling inside his chest at how comfortable this is. How familiar. Despite what it seemed like at first, Theo’s the same smart ass he’s always been. Like maybe if he didn’t leave...

But that also fills him with a sudden anxiety because he really shouldn’t be thinking about Theo like this anymore, he shouldn’t feel like this when he sees him smile. The laughing dies down and the room suddenly feels too quiet again. Theo’s grin has disappeared. Maybe they’re thinking the same thing.

Stiles tries to shake it off, thinks instead about how Theo was never sure what he wanted out of life besides immediate survival, and how the gym is almost a perfect fit for him. “That seems like a good match.”

Theo nods, turning back to look at the ceiling. For a few moments all Stiles can hear are the sounds of cars driving out the window until Theo asks, “What about you?” Stiles turns to him. “Do you have some fancy New York job?”

Stiles huffs out a breath. “If you call being a receptionist a fancy job.”

Theo’s brows raise at that. “You’re a _receptionist_?” He asks incredulously. Stiles nods, not entirely shocked by Theo’s surprise. It’s definitely not what he’d planned on, but it pays the bills. Theo shakes his head slightly, asking, “You put on a fake smile and greet people all day?” He continues to look at him, seemingly amused, “Doesn’t sound like you at all.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s just a job.” He’d wanted to be in the FBI once upon a time, but that dream was promptly destroyed sometime between waking up in a cement room and his leg getting fucked. Stiles frowns slightly, sort if wishing they could drop the subject entirely now. 

Theo does, but it’s only so he can say, “I thought you said New York was overrated.”

Stiles feels himself go cold. Because he definitely did say that, and he remembers the exact moment when. And that moment isn’t something he’d like to be thinking about right now for a while slew of reasons, one on the very top being it was when they were trapped in that fucking _place_... 

He feels himself take a breath, any sense of comfort he’d just felt disappearing as he reminds himself not to think about that. But that place is not the only reason he’d rather forget about that conversation, because that was also when he and Theo had been at a very different place. He’d told Theo that he was a virgin, and had even been dumb enough to believe maybe Theo would be his first. Of course that didn’t work. His first time with a guy had been a random one night stand in New York and was completely unspectacular in every way. The only thing it made him feel was like he was betraying Theo somehow, even if they’d been long broken up. All of which is something he’d rather not think of, ever if he can help it, but especially not now, not here.

Stiles scratches the back of his neck and purposefully looks away. He can’t tell if Theo’s smelled the change in his mood, but he can’t imagine he hasn’t. Still, Stiles responds quietly, “I probably would’ve gone anywhere to get away.”

Theo definitely frowns at that, but Stiles can only see it from the corner of his eye. He looks like he’s holding back something, almost like _anything to get away from me_ , but Stiles honestly hopes that’s not what he’s thinking. But without any explanation, why shouldn’t Theo believe that? Stiles hasn’t told him otherwise.

Stiles doesn’t look at him when he blurts out, “Where did you go...” he can make out Theo’s head turning to him as he continues hesitantly, “After... After I left?” He finally glances up. He can’t help but wonder, Theo lived with him after they came home from the hospital, which was mostly because they needed to be together but also because he had nowhere else to go. Now he has his own place, but Stiles is pretty sure he didn’t acquire it overnight. 

Theo looks surprised by the question if his eyebrows going up is any indication. He swallows, composes himself quickly. “...Your dad let me stay at your house.”

Now it’s Stiles’ turn to raise his brows. “Oh.” He says quickly, thinking. That’s beyond surprising. His dad made no secret of his hatred for Theo, he hardly let him stay there when Stiles was there, he actually let him stay there alone? But maybe it shouldn’t be a shock; Theo’s part of the pack now, obviously something changed since Stiles left, why shouldn’t that include he and his dads relationship?

Still, he does feel a sense of relief. That Theo was okay after Stiles left, that hid life didn’t completely fall apart. All Stiles can think about are those voicemails. About Theo crying on the last one. About how it’s Stiles fault because he left without a word. 

Theo looks like he wants to say something again, but this time it looks more meaningful this time. Stiles wishes he had the ability to read what he was thinking like Theo always seems to read what he’s thinking. But them Theo’s looking away, nodding slightly. “Yeah,” he mutters quietly, almost to himself, still looking deep in thought. 

Stiles looks down at the sheet beneath him, and the conversation stops. He almost wants to whisper sorry, but he’s afraid that Theo will hear him. The stillness returns, but it doesn’t feel as suffocating this time. While Stiles lays in the silence, knowing he won’t fall asleep anytime soon, he finds himself continuously sneaking glances at Theo and that warm feeling in his chest returning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to leave me a comment if you’re enjoying/want to see what happens next!!!


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